


Now and Then

by wordyanansi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:38:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin has spent six years trying to forget Bellamy Blake, but he appears unexpectedly and everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

> Before I begin, I want to say how heavily inspired I have been by some of the amazing flashback/flashforward fics out there. You guys are incredibly talented and definitely inspired this (and if anyone wants fic recs for these, let me know). I would like to think, though, that I have placed my own spin on it. 
> 
> Secondly, I am really in to the idea of Clarke and Bellamy breaking up and then getting back together. However, if it happened in the show at this point I think I'd lose my shit. If they finally get together they better not break up... but they do have that long list of bellarke forgiveness to sort out first.
> 
> Let me know what you think.

**Now**

It was, all things considered, not how Clarke imagined seeing him again. Not that she would ever admit to thinking about seeing him again. And looking at him now, it was simultaneously hard to imagine that everything had happened at all, and impossible to forget.

The only consolation was that, perhaps, he was as surprised as she was.

He was back lit by red and blue flashing lights, and despite the sirens and chatter, it all faded away when he looked at her. She wished that she could still hear the chatter, the overwhelming noise surrounding her, because it would mean that she was over it, over him. She had thought that she was.

“Clarke?” he asked her, tentatively, shock stretched across his features, standing where he recognised her, hesitating on that next essential step forward. She pressed her lips together in a line, recovering herself, boxing all of the emotions of today and of then and of him away, and then she gave him the small smile she offered everyone these days.

“Hello Bellamy.”

 

\---

**Then**

 

It, like many of Clarke’s best stories, started with Octavia Blake and her twinkling eyes and wickedly curved mouth. There are friends, there are best friends, and then there are the kind of soul mates you meet and know that you’re in it for the long haul together. That last one was Octavia Blake. They had met in self-defence classes, new to the city and forced into them by over protective family members. Octavia took to them like a natural, her moves like a dance compared to Clarke’s effective but brutally sharp ones. They had been friends for five months of coffee dates, bar crawls, and movie nights. In this time Clarke had got her first tattoo ( _come on, Clarke, live a little, no one ever has to know!_ And aside from the horrific one night stand she’d had since then, no one else had), ditched a fundraising event her mother had thrown half way through ( _Clarke, you hate this. Come have some fun)_ , and gone an incredibly ill-advised skinny dip in the middle of the night ( _It’s the middle of the night, no one’s gonna know._ Aside from the drunk guys on the beach watching them and the paramedics when she thought she might have developed hyperthermia, that is). But this one did not start in such a way that she thought she had anything to worry about.

“Clarke! You have to meet me brother. He’s just come into town to surprise me. Clarke, this is Bellamy, Bellamy, this is Clarke,” Octavia says, pulling a man along behind her that seems to be the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Clarke smiles politely at him, and offers her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she says politely. He takes her small pale hand with his large calloused one and shakes it awkwardly. She can tell he is surprised by the firmness of the one shake she gives him, but then people normally are. Octavia is laughing.

“God, Clarke, you’re so formal,” she says, rolling her eyes. Clarke shrugs and smiles at her friend.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” Clarke replies lightly, or she tries to. Even flippantly, she’s still struggling to talk about everything and it sucks. But there it is.

“Formal old habits? You’re not some kind of princess, are you?” Bellamy asks her, and Clarke starts at his voice, finds her eyes locked on his. She wants to scowl, and she almost does.

“Not anymore,” she replies, and she wishes she could keep the archness out of her tone, but she can’t. She’s eminently grateful for Octavia throwing her arms around their shoulders.

“Play nice,” she instructs. “You’re my two favourite people. You’re meant to at least try to get along.” Clarke gives a small smile that borders on apologetic, but Bellamy just smirks. There is something about him that Clarke likes, even though she’s making up her mind not to like him at all.

“Alright, O,” Bellamy says affectionately. “Come on, let’s go grab some lunch, I’m starving.” Octavia looks to her, asking her to join them. She knows that she should. She and Octavia were meeting for lunch anyway, it’s not like she has an excuse not to go, but she tries to come up with one desperately as her phone rings. She looks at the display, torn. It’s her mother. She doesn’t know which is the lesser of the two evils in front of her. Octavia noticed the display, and winces for her.

“Are you going to…?” Octavia’s voice trails off, and it sounds sad already. Bellamy merely looks curious. Clarke swallows.

“Not today,” Clarke decides. “Lunch?” Octavia beams at her and she offers a small, tight smile. The tension won’t leave her shoulders for another hour, she knows.

 

Lunch is light and easy. Where Bellamy and Clarke are about to clash they either silently agree to change the topic, or let Octavia do it for them. They do this for Octavia. But Clarke can’t ignore the feeling that she’d like to argue with him. He wouldn’t back down, and he wouldn’t take it too seriously. She likes that kind of argument, the fire and the fun. But they aren’t easy to come by. Not everyone understands. Still, she’s surprised when she comes back to the table after a trip to the bathroom to find them talking about her. She pauses, out of sight and in hearing, listening.

“Her mother doesn’t approve of art school, but Clarke wants it, so she’s doing it alone,” Octavia is saying.

“Well art school is for people who can afford it, O,” he counters. “Not like the rest of us who pick up a trade or get a useful degree.” Clarke wants to punch him, but she doesn’t move.

“She’s really good, Bell. Since her father died, she says art’s the only thing keeping her sane. She still has to go and play nice in front of her mother’s friends because of political reasons, but they really can’t stand each other anymore,” Octavia is saying. And while she appreciates the defense, Clarke wishes she’d shut up.

“So ‘princess’ is hitting the nail on the head then,” Bellamy scoffs. Clarke’s hands become fists.

“She’s not like that, Bellamy. Would I be friends with someone like that?” Octavia challenges. Clarke makes her way back over to the table and sits down, and the conversation suddenly stops. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. If they’d pretended, she might have stayed.

“Actually, I think I’m going to go. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around Octavia,” Clarke says, suddenly unable to stand being there for another moment. She picks up her bag and heads to the register, picking up the tab for the entire lunch and putting it on her mother’s emergency credit card. She knows that whatever she does will have him saying something else about her family’s money, but she doesn’t want him to accuse her of being cheap. She’s turning to leave when Octavia is there, holding her arm.

“Clarke, I’m sorry, don’t go. Not yet,” she pleads, but Clarke shakes her head, she can’t stay.

“It’s okay, Octavia. Go hang out with your brother. I’ll catch up with you later,” Clarke manages. She knows she’s about to cry, having her tragic little soap opera summed up in a couple of paragraphs will do that to a girl. Octavia looks torn.

“I just wanted you to like each other,” she says, and it’s so sad and pitiful that Clarke can’t help the tear that leaks out. She shoves it away quickly, and gives her a small smile.

“Maybe we will. But it won’t be today,” Clarke says gently. Octavia nods, but doesn’t move.  She gives her arm a squeeze and brushes past her.

 

\---

 

**Now**

“I didn’t know you were here,” Bellamy says, still not moving. Clarke winces internally, but keeps her smile in place.

“Me neither. I mean, I didn’t know you were here either,” she explains, not moving from her seat on the ground.

“Octavia could have warned us,” he offers. But Clarke shook her head.

“It was in the rules. No information about either of us to either of us,” Clarke reminds him. He looks sad for a moment, and then it’s gone, replaced with a frown.

“You’re a doctor?” Bellamy asks, and there is accusation in his tone that makes her want to slap him.

“Yes,” she replies, one word, keeping the bitterness in. No, not the bitterness, the rush of explanations that rises up inside her, desperate to explain to him why she made the choices she made. But he doesn’t deserve them, she reminds herself.  They stare at each other for another moment. He looks away first and raises his pad and pen.

“I’m uh, I’m meant to take your statement. But if you want I can get...,” Bellamy’s voice trails off as Clarke shakes her head.

“You can take my statement if you want to,” she says, and her voice sounds polite and foreign even to herself. He almost flinches.

“No, I think I’ll… I’ll get my partner to. I can’t…,” his voice trails off again and Clarke wants to scream at him. She wants to cry. As if today wasn’t hard enough. Instead she just nods.

“I understand. Not like I could operate on you in all good conscience either,” she smiles at him. He flinches, this time it’s obvious. She wonders if he thinks it’s because she’d hurt him deliberately. She sighs as he disappears into the background. She swallows down and lets her head hit the brick wall behind her. She wishes this were easier. On the plus side, she thinks, once a cop takes your statement that’s the last you see of them usually. But her stomach rolls and she knows that no matter what comes next, she won’t stop looking for him in crowds and coffee shops now. Her beautiful clean start has a Bellamy sized smudge in it.

\---

**Then**

 

It turns out that Bellamy was not just in town to surprise Octavia, but also for a job interview. Clarke wasn’t really paying attention as Octavia gushed about how proud she was of her brother working with… some sort of community outreach program for at risk teens? She doesn’t think about again until she’s arriving at The Drop Ship, a youth shelter she’d been volunteering at since she was a teen herself with her father, and he’s there.

She almost doesn’t recognise him, because he’s surrounded by teenagers and laughing, playing some sort of version of tag in the quad. She’s annoyed because it’s the freckles she recognises first. Monty is the first one to see her, and he dashes away from the group to give her a hug. She holds him tightly, even as Jasper pulls him away to have his turn, and the game has disintegrated with half the kids standing around her, holding her hands and talking at once. She’s trying to smile at them, but she’s still in shock, until Monty grabs her hand and pulls on it, forcing her to look at him.

“Clarke, have you met Bellamy? He’s the new coordinator for work placements,” he tells her excitedly, and drags her out of the throng to present to Bellamy. He smiles at her strangely, a ‘ _I didn’t expect to see you here, Princess’_ smile, and she hates that she knows exactly what he’s thinking. She offers him a half-hearted smile.

“Bellamy, I didn’t know you worked here,” she says, keeping her voice even. She ignores the teenagers whispering around her.

“I could say the same thing, princess,” he replies. She can see the exact moment when he realises that he’s called her princess and he knows he wasn’t meant to in his eyes, but she can see he’s not going to backtrack. The whispers intensify.

“Forgotten my name already?” Clarke teases instead, letting him off the hook. His smile is one of relief.

“Na, I just think ‘princess’ suits you better,” he responds and Clarke almost laughs, almost.  Instead she quirks her eyebrows.

“I don’t think this ‘princess’ thing is going to be endearing long term,” she warns him, teasing still in her voice. “And you know how badly your sister wants us to be friends.” He smiles at her then, and it’s genuine and amused and warm. Monty is pulling on her arm again, so she turns to him. She knows she’s not meant to have favourites, but you can’t help it sometimes, when you work with personalities like these, but she does. And Monty, beautiful, smart Monty, was one of hers.

“How do you know Bellamy?” he asks, and he looks almost worried. Of course, his mother has had a long string of boyfriends that leave her broken hearted and overdosing. Relationships scare him, especially ones that don’t work out. She smiles at him warmly.

“His sister is my best friend. Nothing to worry about, Monty,” Clarke reassures him. He smiles at her gratefully, and lets go of her arm.

“Was he mean when you met?” Jasper asked, cheekily, and Clarke grinned while Bellamy laughed.

“I don’t know about mean, but I wasn’t terribly nice,” Bellamy says, laughter still in his voice and Clarke glances at his admission.  He smiles at her again, an apology. And she nods back, accepting. The kids are ready to ask more questions, but she thinks they’ve had enough fun.

“Alright, alright, I know, it’s all terribly exciting. But, I only have two hours today so how about those that want to come with me to get started in the art room?” Clarke says loudly, talking so everyone can hear her. There are some grumbles that it isn’t as long as normal and some noises of excitement about what they’re working on.  She goes to follow them but she feels a hand wrap around her wrist, stopping her. She knows before she turns that it’s going to be Bellamy, and she’s not disappointed.

“I am sorry, you know,” he says quietly. She smiles at him.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies, and pulls her wrist out of his grip and follows the kids. She doesn’t look back, but she can see him watching her leave in the reflection of the glass doors. She pretends that she can’t.

\---

**Now**

Clarke is still waiting for someone to take her statement, and she supposes she should be going over things in her head. She’s probably got a notebook she could write in. But instead she’s mentally cursing out Octavia in her head. She knows the rules they made so they could stay friends after everything that happened, but this seems to be taking it a step too far. She’d moved here to get away from everything, and Octavia knew that. She wondered which one of them moved first.  She sighed. It had been six years since she last saw him. It shouldn’t be like this after six years. She shouldn’t be flashing back to their first kiss (sweet and tender and lingering as a goodbye outside a coffee shop) and their last fight (brutal and heart breaking and crushing). She should be like ‘oh, there’s that guy I dated once’. Pathetic.

She was brought out of her reverie by a cough. She looked up at the man, who was looking at her at way that was curious but also apologetic.

“Uh Bellamy… Detective Blake, asked me to take your statement,” he said. “I’m Detective Miller.” Clarke smiled at him with a sigh, dragging herself up to standing. She winced as she placed weight on her hip, and Detective Miller winced in sympathy. He cut a look to the left, and following his glance, Clarke could see Bellamy looking over at them unhappily. She sighed again as she looked away, shifting, trying to balance her weight so it hurt less.

“You’re hurt,” Bellamy said, materialising by her side. He sounded more annoyed than anything else. She fought the urge to glare at him.

“It’s fine. Just some bruising,” Clarke explained. He gave her a look of familiar frustrated concern and she wanted to hit him again. She wanted to tell him he didn’t have the right anymore. Detective Miller looked between them, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Clarke, you can’t just… have you been checked out?” Bellamy asked her, and he sounded so sad all of a sudden. She raised her eyebrows.

“I’m a doctor, remember?” she asked him, and he flinched back from her.

“Right. Fine. Got it. I just… O would want me to ask,” he tried. Clarke shook her head and sighed again.

“Don’t pretend this is about Octavia, Bell,” she said warningly. Bellamy ran his hand through his hair, and she resisted the urge to fix it for him. He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“Clarke,” Bellamy tries, but she shakes her head.

“You can’t have it both ways,” Clarke tells him, tiredly. “I’m trying to… I’m trying. But you can’t have it both ways. You can’t not be able to take my statement and still come over here because you see me limp.” He fists his hands and rolls his shoulders and works his jaw. She hasn’t seen him this mad since… Well. He turns and walks away, and Clarke turns back to Miller with an apologetic smile.

“My statement?” she asks him politely.

\---

**Then**

The next two weeks are a blur of polite greetings and friendly waves, but they don’t really talk. Octavia keeps asking if he’s being nice, wanting her to come over when he’s there and be friends. But that she’s busy isn’t a lie. But part of it is that she doesn’t want to stop the friendly smiling. She’s afraid if they actually talk that they’ll ruin it. It’s not just for Octavia now, they have to be able to work together. But they’re so rarely in the same place at the same time that talking doesn’t seem to be a problem. So it’s a surprise when he’s waiting for her when she walks out of the art room after tidying it up.

“They love you, you know,” Bellamy tells her. He’s leaning against the wall beside the door and it startled her. He smiles an apology while she adjusts the strap on her backpack.

“I love them too. I’ve been coming here for a really long time,” she replies, smiling back. He shoves off the wall and walks beside her.

“I figured. They all know you. And you seem to know them. I’m always hearing something you’ve said to them and how great you are. I didn’t… Look, I know I said I’m sorry, but you’re not who I expected you to be. I was unfair,” Bellamy says, she can’t look at him because she’ll know that she’ll blush. She wants to be mad at him for judging her at all. But she can’t. She doesn’t say anything, just walks in silence. They reach the doors and she’s about to walk through them without looking back, but he grabs her wrist. She looks up at him, amused.

“You have a thing for grabbing my wrist,” she says, amused. He looks embarrassed and lets go.

“Look, I know we got off to a bad start, but can we start over? Maybe coffee?” he asks her. She tilts her head to the left, considering.

“Like a date? Or like a ‘let’s be friends for Octavia’ coffee?” she asks, her voice neutral. He runs his hand through his hair. She fights back a smile at what is clearly a nervous gesture.

“Either?” he decides finally, hope in his voice. She considers it for a moment, and he looks increasingly nervous.

“Both,” Clarke replies confidently. He looks at her with a strange smile.

“You’re really… not like other people,” he finishes and she can tell he hates how it sounds, but his tone is still one of appreciation. She smiles.

“Thanks. I think. When are we going for coffee?” she asks. He laughs.

“How about now?” he says and she smiles her acceptance, and he laughs again, leading her out into the street.

 

Coffee turns into dinner. It wasn’t meant to, but it did. They just keep talking and laughing, and arguing – the good kind of arguing where they’re both enjoying shouting and proving their points and there are no hard feelings. Clarke can’t remember the last time she felt this at home anywhere. She loves Octavia, but Octavia is wild and free and let’s that part of Clarke out into the air. But with Bellamy she doesn’t feel like she has to put on a show or be anything other than exactly what she is. It’s dark when they’re standing outside the coffee shop, knowing they need to go home, but it’s clear neither of them want to leave.

“So,” Bellamy asks after a moment. “Date or friends for Octavia?” Clarke laughs.

“I told you, both,” she says. Bellamy shakes his head, and sighs. He’s not happy about something, but it seems to be internal.

“O isn’t going to like this,” he says. Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Us,” he elaborates. Clarke frowns. It could be for a million reasons, but she can’t help but feel like it’s about her. In the end, she decides to bite the bullet and just ask.

“Why?” she asks, looking up into his eyes, and he looks so sad.

“I wish you hadn’t asked,” he says quietly. “Because I’m going to tell you and you’re going to like me less.” Clarke’s frown deepens. He sighs. “I don’t exactly have a good track record with... dating, or whatever. I used to be more love ‘em and leave ‘em. O told me I wasn’t allowed to date anymore of her friends.” He couldn’t meet her eyes while he spoke, but he comes back, hesitantly, for her reaction. She chews her bottom lip for a moment, thinking.

“So are you planning on loving and leaving me?” Clarke asks after a moment. He catches her hand.

“No. You’re… no. That’s not really who I am anymore, and it’s not who I want to be with you,” he says, and it sounds an awful lot like too much honesty for people on a sidewalk who may or may not have just had their first date. But Clarke likes it. She likes the way his voice sounds when he says it, like he means, and she likes the way he clearly hates the conversation but he’s making himself have it. She chews her lip for another moment, thinking.

“So we don’t tell her. Not yet. We wait. See if it’s going to be anything we need to tell her about. If we’re going to flame out in a week there’s not point,” Clarke decides. Bellamy’s face is a mixture of emotions, but he nods.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, squeezing her hand. She smiles at him. “Can I… I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and she raises her eyebrows, so he smirks, before leaning down to kiss her gently, slowly. It’s sweet, Clarke thinks, but not at all what she expected, and she’s interested to note it isn’t really what she wanted. When the kiss ends they smile at each other.

“I have to go,” he says. She nods. “But I don’t want to.” She smiles at him.

“Same. Until next time, Mr Blake,” she says, trying to keep it light. She moves to walk past him, but he catches her wrist. Again, her wrist, always her wrist. She turns back.

“When’s next time?” he asks her, sounding suddenly urgent. She smiles at him. She reaches into her satchel and pulls out a pen. She takes the hand holding her wrist and writes her phone number on it.

“When you call me and tell me,” she says, and then she walks away before he can say anything else and ruin the moment.

\---

**Now**

Detective Miller is looking at strangely and not taking her statement.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. “But I just have to ask… what’s the story with you and Bellamy? We’ve been partners for four years and I’ve never seen him like that.” Clarke sighs. Part of her wants to tell him to mind is own damn business. She knows how much she hates it when other people spill her sordid past. But it would be nice to say something, possibly even cathartic.

“We dated six years ago,” she says. And Miller frowns.

“That’s a long time ago,” he says. Clarke shrugged and offered him a sad smile.

“Yes. It was. And yet, here we are,” she replies.

“You must have really done a number on each other,” Miller says, shaking his head slightly. And Clarke flinched, and her stomach twisted. She’d figured that out years ago, but at the time that’s not the way it felt.

“Can we get back to the statement?” Clarke asked, suddenly not wanting to talk about this anymore. She wanted to say that he made his choice, but no one is innocent in the end. She could have kept fighting, but she didn’t. He could have apologised, but he didn’t.

“Uh, yeah, sure, sorry. So, let’s start from the beginning. What time did you arrive at work this morning?”

\---

**Then**

“We can’t keep doing this, Bellamy,” Clarke tells him as they lay, spent and sweating, on the mattress. He rolls on to his side to look at her, concern etched in his face. She couldn’t smother a laugh, but he wasn’t amused.

“You can’t say shit like that Princess, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” he grumbled, shoving her gently.

“Aw, breaking up would give you a heart attack?” Clarke teased him. He swatted at her.

“Get to the point,” he said. Clarke sighed.

“We have to tell Octavia,” she says. Bellamy groaned and flopped onto his back.

“She isn’t going to be happy,” he says. Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Which is why we haven’t told her for the six weeks that we’ve been going on coffee dates and having sex at every available opportunity. But if you want to keep doing this we have to tell her. Or we stop,” Clarke tells him. He groans again.

“Fine. But when this goes badly, I get to say I told you so and you have to do that thing with your tongue,” Bellamy tells her, and Clarke laughs.

“Good, because I told her I’d meet her for coffee in an hour,” she tells him.

“Why? It’s a good thing I love you, Clarke, or I’d be so pissed right now,” he groans. She freezes, staring at him. It takes him another ten seconds to realise what he’d said. He moves his arm from his eyes and looks at her, nervous.

“I’m not taking it back,” he said. She bit her lip. “I love you, Clarke.” She smiled at him, letting the joy pool in her stomach and make her heart beat faster.

“I love you too, Bell,” she replies in a whisper, his grin is radiant and she barely manages to say his name before he’s dragging her on top of him, kissing her.

“Thank god,” he whispered, in between kisses. “You had me worried there for a minute.” Clarke laughed, still kissing him.

“Do you really think I’d be risking my friendship with Octavia if I didn’t?” she asked him.

“Clarke, I just...,” Bellamy begins.

“Shut up and kiss me, Bell,” she instructs, and he obliges.

 

“You’re what?” Octavia asks, incredulously, and Bellamy looks away, hurt and ashamed. But Clarke holds his hand in hers and squeezes. They’re crowded into the corner of a coffee shop and it’s noisy, but so noisy that Octavia hadn’t heard exactly what they’d said.

“We’re dating,” Clarke repeats, with a smile. “You know, going out for coffee, talking walks, movie nights, wild sex, the whole shebang.” Bellamy barks out a laugh and Octavia winces. And then she pauses.

“You mean, he’s actually taking you on dates,” she asked slowly. Clarke nodded. Bellamy looked like he was about to blush. “You don’t take girls on dates,” Octavia accused him.

“I take Clarke on dates,” Bellamy confirmed. “It’s different.” And she knows, hears it in his voice, that he’s not talking about the dating, he’s talking about them and them together. Clarke smiles into her coffee, avoiding eye contact, sure she’ll blush with pleasure if she sees anyone. Bellamy squeezes her hand. She glances up at Octavia, who’s looking thoughtful.

“How long?” Octavia asks.

“Six weeks,” Bellamy supplies before Clarke has the chance. Octavia’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape.

“That’s… longer than normal,” Octavia says, her voice sounding strange. And then she narrows her eyes at Clarke. “You didn’t even tell me you were seeing anyone! I had no idea. You’re sneaky, Clarke Griffin. I’m not going to forget that.” Clarke laughed lightly.

“I’m very good at keeping secrets,” Clarke said meaningfully, referring to the fact that Clarke hadn’t been the only one with a secret boyfriend. Octavia had the decency to blush. Bellamy looked between them, clearly missing something.

“Okay, you win. I’m not going to make a scene. But we need to lay down some ground rules,” Octavia says finally, and Clarke nods as Bellamy squeezes her hand again.

“I’m not going to tell him your secrets, Octavia,” Clarke says. Octavia rolls her eyes and Bellamy gives her a look. Clarke shrugs. “I’m serious. You’re my best friend and that matters.”

“It’s not what I meant, but thanks,” Octavia says. “I meant for when you break up.” There is a pause, and it is long enough for Clarke to feel vaguely ill and Bellamy to grip her hand tightly.

“We’re not going to break up, O,” he says quietly, and Clarke feels slightly less sick. But Octavia sighs in exasperation.

“It’s been six weeks! You can’t possibly know that. If you break up. Whatever. You’re my brother and you’re my best friend. I get to keep you both, I don’t pick sides, and I’m not going to tell either of you anything about the other one,” Octavia tells them.

“Fine. But we’re not going to break up,” Bellamy says again, shifting his hand to hold her wrist instead. Clarke swallows and nods.

“It’s always good to be prepared,” she says weakly, but she knows that she’s not going to be prepared for this, not matter what.

\---

**Now**

“I got to work at 6am this morning, and everything was normal. Want me to skip ahead to when something changed?” Clarke asks and Detective Miller nods, flipping through his notes.

“So he arrived at 8:30am?” Detective Miller asked. Clarke shook her head once.

“More like 8:15am. I noticed him arrive because I was asking a question of the admin nurse, Genevieve Fox. He was hunched over like he was in pain, and he looked really clammy. I wondered if he had the flu or a stomach bug, you know, one of the standards. I noticed him loitering around, but not coming up to the triage desk. Which was weird. I finished my conversation at around 8:30am, and I heard him approach the desk as I walked away,” Clarke explained. He writes as she speaks, filling out the timeline, and she waits for further questions.

She’s about to continue when she hears a noise that is distinctly Bellamy shouting. Her head jerks to where he is immediately and he’s glaring at her, storming over. She steels herself, and she knows what he’s going to say, and it’s going to get ugly. Detective Miller looks worried. She manages to give him an apologetic look before Bellamy reaches her.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouts at her, hand running through his hair, looking strangely desperate.

\---

**Then**

The summer nights were warm and Bellamy dragged her out of the apartment and away from the frustrated noises she was making at her latest piece for art school. She’d complained, of course, but it had been weak and half-hearted and over as soon as he’d placed his hand on her wrist. They lay down on the grass and stared up at the stars. He pointed out the constellations, using the hand of the wrist that he held to point them out to her. And then he’d tell her the stories. She relaxed into the sound of his voice, her eyes closed, picturing his words in her head, when it all clicked. She sat up suddenly, and he looked at her in shock.

“I know what to do, how to fix it,” she says suddenly. “I have to go back.” And she’s up and moving before he makes it to sitting, but he runs with her through the streets and back up to their apartment. She sits back down at her canvas and he moves to the kitchen and makes her a cup of tea. He places it beside her silently and kisses her temple before he goes back to bed.

In the morning, he looks at the galaxy she’s painted and can see the shape of a woman in the swirls hinted at, but barely there, and Clarke smiles as he sees it.

“You listened,” he says softly into her hair. She leans back into him.

“You inspired me,” she sighs. His arms wrap around her so tightly she wonders if she’s going to be able to breath, but she can.

“You inspire me every day,” he whispers, and he kisses his way down her neck, and along her shoulder, teeth grazing at the spot where her neck and shoulder join that makes her moan. She twists in his arms, drags his face to hers and kisses him until they tumble back into the bedroom and he is late for work.

 

Clarke is arguing with her mother on the phone and he catches the tail end of it. He’s frowning when she disconnects, but she sighs and falls beside him on the couch.

“She drives me insane,” Clarke says.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Bellamy asks. Clarke feels the air leave her throat and she looks at him in shock. How could she be ashamed of the man who makes her feel alive again?

“Never,” she says vehemently. He makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“Why don’t you want me to meet her?” he asks. Clarke feels the ice in her veins.

“Because she’s not a nice person and she’s already decided she doesn’t like you. She wants me to be with someone else, someone from a family she approves of. She wants me to be a doctor, not an artist. She wants me to put everything in neat little boxes and smile. I like keeping this part of my life away from her, it makes me happy, and she’s going to ruin it,” Clarke says. Bellamy snorts.

“I can make her like me,” he tries. Clarke shakes her head, but shifts so she’s straddling him, running her hands down his arms.

“You can’t,” she tells him gently, and kisses his cheek.

“She can’t ruin this, Clarke. I love you. She can not like me if she wants, but she can’t make me leave,” he tells her. Clarke shakes her head.

“You say that, but I think you’re wrong. But if this is what you really, really want to do, I’ll call her and we’ll have dinner at the house. Because I love you,” Clarke tells him, kissing his nose. Bellamy nods, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down onto his chest. She inhales the smell of him.

“It’s been six months,” he says quietly. “It’s probably time for me to meet your mother.”

 

On the night in question, Clarke dresses him in casual shirt and black pants and shimmies herself into a cocktail dress. She apologies when he gets home from work, when she offers him is clothes, when they go down to the car, twice on the drive over, and once as they’re waiting to go inside.

“You have to stop apologising, Clarke. It’s either going to be okay, or it’s not, and I’m here for you whatever happens,” he tells her, rubbing her back. She smiles at him again, but she’s not sure he can make those kinds of promises until he’d met her mother.

In all fairness, it had started well. They made it most of the way through dinner with Abby making polite noises about how nice it is they both work with youth. It’s good to have interests in common, and they both clearly care about the community and youth. Clarke is watching her mother’s brain tick over with how she could use this to her advantage in a campaign. And then school comes up.

“I noticed that your application to Rockefeller and Mount Sinai were both successful, as well as Harvard and Stanford for medicine,” Abby says conversationally. Bellamy stiffens beside her as Clarke drops her fork.

“I wasn’t aware that you could notice things that were addressed to me at my apartment that you’ve never been to,” Clarke replies, equally conversationally. Abby gives her a look.

“Fine. I made some calls. Were you going to tell me?” she demands. Clarke tries not to scowl, she really does.

“No, I wasn’t. Because I thought I made it clear I was going to art school,” Clarke ground out. Abby looks at Bellamy then, and then back to Clarke.

“I see you didn’t tell your boyfriend either,” she says lightly. “Are you two not terribly close?” Bellamy is still frozen in place, and Clarke shoots a glance at him, but he doesn’t move. She fights back the growl in her throat.

“We are terribly close, Mother. But no, I didn’t tell him, because I didn’t think it was relevant. I’m not going to be a doctor. I can’t do it. I can’t spend my life in hospitals when I can’t even walk into a hospital after dad. If you ever listened to me, you’d know that,” Clarke snaps.

“You can’t let one tragedy define your life,” Abby says. “And clearly you’re making choices that reduce your options and keep you in your comfort zone.” Clarke stands up viciously, knocking her chair backward.

“I think we’re done here. Always a pleasure, mother,” Clarke says snidely, pulling Bellamy up with his arm and dragging him away from the table. She ignored her mother’s voice asking her to come back and calm down. They don’t say anything until they’re back in the car. Clarke rests her hands on the steering wheel and takes some steadying breaths.

“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” he asks quietly. She looks at him.

“No, I wasn’t. Like I said, I didn’t think it was relevant,” she replied. “I applied in another life.” Bellamy shook his head.

“I didn’t realise,” he said quietly. “I didn’t… I mean, I know Octavia said you were smart and your mother wanted you to be a doctor, but I didn’t realise…” his voice trailed off. Clarke shook her head and started the car.

“Can we talk about this at home?” she asks tiredly, and he nods vaguely. She hears him mutter that he didn’t know again and her knuckles whiten against the wheel.

\---

**Now**

“Bellamy, I think you need to calm down,” Clarke said. It didn’t have the desired effect, but then, she had known that it would not work.

“You expect me to calm right now when you put yourself in the line of fire! Christ, Clarke! What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted at her. Clarke narrowed her eyes.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that, and I’m going to get offended in a minute,” Clarke managed in an almost reasonable tone. She glanced at Detective Miller.

“Are you going to do something?” she asked him, hopefully. He raised his hands in supplication.

“I’m not sure I can,” he said apologetically. Clarke sighed.

“Seriously, Clarke, do you get that you could have died?” Bellamy wasn’t shouting anymore, but he was definitely unhappy.

“Look, I did what I thought was right. The guy was upset and yelling and he had a gun. He said he had a bomb. There were kids in there. I swapped myself for them. Better me than a kid. And there was a window of opportunity to take him out and I thought I’d give it a shot. I don’t have a family or anyone waiting for me and I was thinking I was potentially more expendable than-,” Clarke was explaining, but she was cut off when his hands gripped her upper arms and shoved her back against the wall.

“Clarke! Expendable? You think you’re expendable? Jesus Christ,” Bellamy’s volume goes from a shout to a mutter, and his head was bowed by the end, but she was still pinned the wall. She swallowed.

“You don’t get to blow back into my life six years after you walked out and do this, Bellamy,” she says quietly. His hands squeeze her tighter, and he looks up at her, his eyes are shining.

“How the hell can you think you’re expendable?” he asks her, his voice low and growling. At this, her anger resurfaces. She shoves his chest hard, pulling her arms free of his grip, he takes a couple of steps backward and she glares at him.

“You should know. You’re the first one who made me feel that way,” she bites at him. She tosses a glance at Detective Miller, and his jaw is dropped and he’s openly staring. She doesn’t look around but has the feeling a lot of people are staring at them now. “Detective Miller, I apologise. You’re just trying to take my statement. Would you mind if we make a time tomorrow to do this? I think I need to go home.”

“Uh… sure, I guess,” Detective Miller says. Bellamy’s not looking at her still, finding his feet more interesting than having a conversation with her. She pulls out her notepad and scribbles her name and phone number and hands it to him with a smile.

“Call me later,” she says and walks away. She thinks she hears Bellamy call her name, but she ignores it. It’s time to go home.

\---

**Then**

“You can’t let your father’s death define your entire life,” Bellamy is shouting at her. It’s been a month since the disastrous dinner at her mother’s house, and somehow he’s saying her words back verbatim. Clarke feels sick. They’ve been doing this; he’s been doing this for a while, slowly building up to this fight. Trying to tell her that she should be a doctor, that she should go and do the things her mother wants her to do because she can.

“Do not bring my father into this! I didn’t just apply to medical school before he died, I also applied to art school. And art school is what I love,” Clarke shouted back.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Clarke. You have the chance to be a doctor. I’ve seen you with the kids doing first aid and I’ve seen you painting. Don’t pretend to me which one you’d rather be doing,” Bellamy snapped at her. Clarke shook her head.

“I like it here. I like my life. I like art. I like The Drop Ship. I like us. Why aren’t you letting me make my own choices?” Clarke demanded. Bellamy shook his head sadly.

“I love you too much to let you make the wrong choices,” he shouted.

“How about you love me enough to let me make my own choices?” she tried desperately. He shook his head.

“I’m keeping you here. Your mother was right. You could be at Harvard right now but instead you’re here with me,” he replied. Clarke shook her head and felt sicker than she’d ever felt from someone speaking. She wasn’t sure she’d had this level of dread when she’d heard that her father had been in an accident.

“The reasons I like my life list might have featured you, but you aren’t the whole damn list, Bellamy,” she tried.

“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t have the life you deserve,” he says. Clarke starts crying.

“You haven’t considered at all that you might be the life I deserve?” Clarke said sadly. Bellamy shook his head.

“That’s exactly why I’m leaving. You think that, and it’s not true. You deserve so much better than this,” he told her. She was crying earnestly now. He was leaving. He was leaving. It echoed around her head but she couldn’t hold the words down.

“Please don’t do this,” she said quietly. He ignored her as he walked out.

 

Octavia took her to a bar that night, and she saw him there, kissing another woman, taking her home, hand in hand. Octavia looked at her with such sadness. But Clarke shakes her head.

“Okay. He wins,” Clarke says quietly.

“Oh honey, I don’t think anyone wins,” Octavia replied sadly.

\---

**Now**

It’s 1pm and Clarke’s already done with today. She’s faced off with a bomber, hurt her hip, had a blow out with Bellamy, and she’s made it home. Her phone’s ringing and she can see it’s her mother, so she ignores it. She wonders if it’s too early to drink. There’s a knock on her door and she doesn’t want to move from the couch.

“Clarke, I know you’re in there, can you please open the door?” she can hear Bellamy call and she shakes her head.

“Sorry, no, not happening,” Clarke calls back. She hears him curse.

“Please?” he calls again. She shakes her head, even though she can’t see him. And then she freezes.

“How did you find me? Did you call Octavia? Did she tell you where I lived?” Clarke demanded suddenly, ice in her veins.

“I’m sorry, Clarke. Okay? I’m sorry. But if it’s any consolation it took me like an hour to convince to give it to me. And only because she can’t be here to check on you herself,” he calls through the door.

“That traitor,” she says loudly. It’s the chuckle that Bellamy gives that pulls her off the couch and towards the door. She freezes before she gets there.

“Are you going to yell at me if I let you in?” she asks. She’s close enough to the door that she hears him sigh.

“I want to say no, but we both know that I probably can’t make that promise,” he admits. She sighs again and her eyes fill with tears.

“At least you’re honest about it,” she says, opening the door. “But you leave when I say and you don’t argue about it.” He hesitates in the doorway and he looks worse than she remembers ever seeing him.

“Don’t make me agree to that,” he says, hovering there. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair again.

“As I recall, getting you to leave was never the problem,” she says icily, and then winces. “Sorry. Sorry. Whatever. Come in.” She limps back to the couch and collapses on it. He closes the door behind him and walks towards her, hesitating before taking a seat. In the end he sits on the other end of the couch.

\---

**Then**

 

 “Clarke, what are you doing?” Octavia asked her as Clarke moved around the apartment, throwing things in suitcases.

“I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t do it. I tried and I can’t. The Drop Ship is full of him and the kids are feeling it. It’s been a month and there are too many memories. Besides, he always knew I’d do this, my mother always knew I’d do this, apparently I’m the only fucking idiot who didn’t see this coming,” Clarke rants, and she knows she’s losing it. But Octavia just sits there, watching her.

“You don’t want to be a doctor, Clarke,” Octavia reminds her. Clarke turns to face Octavia, her eyes full of tears.

“I thought we were happy, Octavia. I was so happy. And now… he just… replaced me. Just like that. I didn’t matter. I don’t matter to my mother unless I’m a doctor. And I’m going to be miserable whatever I do, so I might as well make someone happy,” she says quietly, tears falling. Octavia wraps her arms around Clarke tightly. She knows that there are things that Octavia wants to say things about their relationship, about Bell, and she can’t. Because those are the rules. But it doesn’t make it any better.

“I’m so sorry Clarke,” Octavia whispers into her hair. “I’m so god damn sorry.”

“Why do I feel like this when it wasn’t even a year? What, eight months? It shouldn’t hurt like this,” Clarke whispers. “But it’s killing me. I feel so fucking pathetic.”

“I know I’m not meant to say anything, but he’s not happy either,” Octavia whispers. Clarke shakes her head.

“I don’t want to hear it. This was his choice. If he wanted it to be different he’s had time to change it,” Clarke replies. Octavia sighs.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I won’t bring him up again,” Octavia promises, and Clarke gives her a watery smile.

“I really, really loved him, Octavia,” Clarke whispers. “And now I just can’t stay.”

\---

**Now**

“So… how are you?” Bellamy asks and Clarke tries really hard not to scowl at him. She fails, of course, but she wants the points for trying.

“Pretty crap,” she replied. He gave her a look ‘ _really, Clarke?’_ , and she responded with one ‘ _well you asked’_. He sighed.

“How’s the hip?” he asked. It was her turn to sigh.

“It’s just bruised. When he threw me down I landed on it. Could have been worse,” Clarke replies, leaning backwards, staring at the ceiling. She can see Bellamy working his jaw out of the corner of her eye. He’s clearly trying not to say something. She sighs. “Just say it, Bellamy.”

“You’re right, it could have been worse. You could have been dead,” he said, and he sounded so sad and frustrated. She rolled her head to look at him.

“So what?” she asked him. He looked at her, shocked. “For real, Bellamy. You haven’t seen me in six years and we randomly run into each other on the day I was taken hostage and could have died. I could have died in a car accident or of some weird disease or in a mugging gone wrong and you would have had no idea. So what are you really upset about it? That you knew about it? Give it a rest.” He’s looking at her with something like unadulterated disbelief.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks her. “It’s different because you made the choice to put yourself in harm’s way.” Clarke shook her head, dismissing him.

“Whatever,” she says tiredly, staring back up at the ceiling again.

“No, not whatever. What you said to me, that I made you feel expendable, that’s not okay Clarke,” he tries. Clarke’s eyes fill with tears.

“Okay, I think we’re done. You need to go,” she manages, not looking at him. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t say anything either. She gives him another minute.

“I’m serious. Today has sucked and this isn’t helping. Go away. I’ll call Octavia and tell her I’m fine,” she tries again.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t want to hold you back, and I was right. Look at you, you’re a doctor now. If I’d stayed, you wouldn’t be,” he said softly, almost affectionately. Clarke shook her head.

“If you’d stayed, I would have been happy. I would rather have been happy,” she whispers back. She hears him swallow, but still refuses to look at him.

“Are you sure about that, Clarke?” he asks. She barks out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. She thinks about the long nights studying and the loneliness that competition breeds. She thinks about the attempts at relationships, and the one time she thought she was falling in love and he’d been stringing her along alongside another woman. She thought about the emptiness of her apartment and how it was just somewhere to take care of bodily functions and never a home. She thought about how empty it was and how proud her mother was and how ridiculous it had all become.

“It clearly doesn’t matter to you either way. So leave it alone,” Clarke says firmly. She sees him shake his head out of the corner of her eye.

“It matters. It really matters, Clarke,” he says, and it sounds almost like it’s a threat. She turns her head to look at him.

“I saw you, you know. I’m sure Octavia told you. The night we broke up and you were already taking someone else home with you. Don’t tell me it matters, that I matter to you at all, because I clearly didn’t,” she says softly, and she’s amazing that she’s managed to keep her voice even saying that, and there is something like relief choking her to finally have it out. He looks away from her, ashamed.

“It was the only way I could think of to stop myself going back to you,” he whispers. Clarke shakes her head and stands up. She doesn’t even know where to begin responding to that.

“This is so fucking dumb. Six years! I’m sure we’ve both had other relationships and moved on and yet here we are having a sob fest about something that didn’t even last a year. We’re adults. We’re thirty fucking  years old. We can do better than this,” Clarke announces. She walks towards her fridge, looking for something to drink. She finds a couple of cans of lemonade, and pulls them out. She offers one to Bellamy, who takes it without meeting her eye, and she sits back down on her side of the couch. She’s about to change the subject, when he speaks again.

“I’m so sorry, Clarke. I really am. I regret it all the time. I still regret it. But I can’t change what I did. I was young and I didn’t want you to wake up in ten years and look at me with regret because it was too late to change anything. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing,” he offered quietly, still not looking at her.

“Stop talking about it, Bellamy, please. I can’t… I can’t talk about this. You broke my fucking heart, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Losing you made me miserable and drove me into medical school so at least my mother would happy, because I sure as shit wasn’t going to be. And hey, I’m a doctor now. And I might not be miserable like I was anymore, but I’m not happy. I don’t paint anymore, and I miss The Drop Ship and Octavia and you. And it’s so fucking stupid. So can we just not talk about this anymore please because I don’t… I can’t do this with you, not today,” Clarke says, and there are tears streaming down her face and she hates herself for it. He’s looking at her, finally, but with such a broken look on his face that she wishes he wouldn’t.

“I still love you,” he says after a moment. She looks at him in shock.

“No, you don’t,” Clarke tells him, and he frowns.

“I do,” he says adamantly. She shakes her head.

“You don’t even know more anymore. You love this stupid version of me that lives in your head, that probably isn’t even real,” Clarke informs him. He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. She swallows down some lemonade and it’s cool and wet and it makes her feel better.

“I can’t do this today,” Clarke says again. “Just go. Please.” He looks broken again and she wants to scream that he doesn’t have the right, but she doesn’t.

“Will you let me come back?” he asks softly. She wants to say no. She wants to yell and scream and cry. She wants to be folded in his arms and transported to six years ago when she was happy and safe and loved and not this broken husk of a person.

“I want to come back. I want to… God, Clarke. I want to… take you for coffee… or just… let me be in your life again. Please,” he whispers. She closes her eyes.

“I don’t know. Not today, okay? Just… not today,” she says. “That’s all I’ve got.  I don’t know.”

“It’ll have to do. I’ll be back,” he says, standing. “Tomorrow.” Clarke sighs and he places a business card on the coffee table. “If you need me.” And then he’s gone and Clarke curls up into a ball and cries.

 

An hour later, her phone rings, and she sees that it is Octavia. Part of her wants to ignore it, be angry at the traitor for telling him where to find her and making everything worse. But she can’t, because Octavia is sister of her soul, and she can’t.

“Hey Octavia,” she says quietly.

“Clarke! Are you okay? Bell said that you tried to take down some dude threatening to blow up the hospital and you were injured,” Octavia lets out a stream of words in panic. Clarke shakes her head.

“How could you, Tav? How could you tell him where I lived? How could you let us live in the same city?” Clarke whispers instead. It’s the only thing she can manage. The only answer is silence. “Say something,” Clarke whispers after a moment.

“It… it’s been years, Clarke. I just… I didn’t think it would matter anymore,” Octavia said. “It shouldn’t matter anymore.” Clarke sobbed out a laugh.

“You don’t think I know that?” she asked, crying again. “This is so… fucked up.”

“Clarke,” Octavia says softly, her voice laden with sympathy.

“Don’t. It’s… whatever. I just have some bruising on my hip from the scuffle, but it’s fine. No one got seriously injured and it was over within two hours. I still have to give my statement because of… everything that happened. But it will be okay,” Clarke manages.

“Do you want me to come and stay with you?” Octavia asked. For a moment, Clarke wanted to say yes. She wanted her best friend and pajamas and ice cream and stupid movies and having someone to care about her just because she was Clarke. But she’d been alone so long now that she forced herself to believe that it didn’t matter.

“No, it’s fine. I just need to sleep and…,” Clarke’s voice trailed off.

“Cry a bit more over Bell?” Octavia asked gently. Octavia rightly took her silence as an admission. “He was really worried about you, you know. Said you were reckless, put yourself in harm’s way. He sounded really messed up about it.”

“I thought you weren’t meant to talk to me about your brother? I thought that was the deal?” Clarke tried to snap. Octavia snorted.

“You’re as bad as each other. I should have made you two talk it out years ago,” she said.

“He said he still loves me. How dumb is that? It’s been six years. He doesn’t even know me anymore,” Clarke said. Octavia laughed.

“He’s such an idiot,” she said affectionately. “But that decides it. I’m driving up. I’ll be there tomorrow. And don’t pretend you aren’t on forced leave for a few days.”

“What about Lincoln?” Clarke asks. Octavia laughed again.

“My best friend was just involved in an attempting bombing. He can live without me for a couple of days.”

“You’re the best, Tav,” Clarke says before she hangs up, and she wishes and wishes that she was already here because suddenly she really doesn’t want to be alone.

\---

**Between**

 

Despite living too far away and being too busy with med school to actually do anything the job entailed, Octavia asked her to be her maid of honor. Of course she said yes. And then she thought about Bellamy. It would be the first time she’d seen him in the year since they ended. But she wouldn’t  miss the wedding for the world. Octavia told her it would be okay. He wasn’t in the bridal party and they wouldn’t need to talk. Just be civil.

The wedding was beautiful and perfect. She didn’t meet his eyes when he walked Octavia down the aisle. She ignored him when he watched her crying at the ceremony. She smiled and thought of Octavia in the photos they were in together, and was grateful when she was gone. She held Octavia’s hands and told her how happy she was for her, wrapping her in a hug, followed by Lincoln. She danced with his best man, Nyko, and laughed, and ignored and ignored and ignored. But no matter where she went she felt exactly where he was.

He found her just over Lincoln and Octavia left for their honeymoon. She was getting ready to go too, but got caught talking to the caterers about the cake. He caught her wrist. She looked down at it and felt sick and aroused and angry and sad. He jerked his hand back when he realised what he’d done.

“Sorry. I… Octavia says you moved away,” Bellamy offered. Clarke looked at him, up into his eyes and she wanted to hate him so badly.

“I couldn’t stay,” she said simply.

“The kids miss you. Monty stopped talking to me for a while,” he says, and each sentence looks like an olive branch. But her face falls at Monty’s name.

“Poor Monty. Is he okay?” she asks. And he lets out a short breath.

“He’s fine now. But he said if I saw you I had to tell you he missed you. It’s his last week, with the program, I mean,” Bellamy says, and there is this air of disbelief, as if he can not believe that this is the conversation they’re having. Clarke nods and smiles to herself.

“He’s going to be okay. Tell him I miss him too, okay?” she replies and moves to go.

“Clarke, wait,” he says, and she can see his hand wanting to grab her wrist again, sees him holding himself back. She pauses and looks at him, and it’s clear he didn’t really expect her to stop, and that he doesn’t know what to say next. But she waits anyway, and hates herself for loving him still. She has time to hate her weakness, how pathetic she is, and how madly she wants to go back. She hates him for listening to her mother when he promised he wouldn’t, hates him for replacing her the same day they broke up, hates him for trying to talk to her at his sister’s wedding.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly, in the end. And something in him crumples. She sees it. She wants to reach out and touch his face, and her palm burns with it, but she doesn’t move. In the end she sighs.

“Me too,” she says eventually, and walks away. This time, he doesn’t stop her.

\---

**Now**

Clarke had taken the sleeping tablets she kept around for the anniversaries of things that you can’t celebrate, like her father’s death, and she had slept like the dead. It’s not a surprise to her that the insistent thumping on the door is what it takes to wake her up. She hears her name called in between the thumping but she’s too hung over from the tablets and too asleep to figure out if the voice is even male or female. But she opens the door without checking anyway.

“Well, you look like crap,” Octavia announces as she pushes past her into the apartment. Clarke works up a smile as she runs her hands through her hair.

“Sleeping tablet,” she explains as she moves into the kitchen. She’s barely got water in the kettle when there is another knock on her door. Octavia looks at her with raised eyebrows over the bench and Clarke shrugs, and jerks her head, telling her to open it. She doesn’t see who it is because her head is the cupboard looking for tea bags and sugar and mugs. So when she hears his voice, the start she gives causes her to bump her head on the cupboard and swear under her breath.

“Octavia? What are you doing here?” Bellamy asks.

“My best friend got held hostage yesterday, where did you think I would be? What are you doing here?” Octavia demands. Clarke pulls her head out of the cupboard and looks at the Blake sibling stand-off. Octavia has her harms folded across her chest and while Clarke can’t see them, she knows her eyes are blazing. Bellamy, on the other hand, looks awkward and uncomfortable. He looks past Octavia and into the room, seeing Clarke in the kitchen.

“Hi,” he says softly, and it’s an apology and a greeting. Clarke just swallows, and silently thanks god when the kettle finishes boiling and she has an excuse to turn away.

“I’m here to see Clarke. Just to… check on her after yesterday,” Bellamy tries to tell Octavia.

“I’m not sure that that’s a great idea, Bell. And I’m here now,” Octavia replies gently. Clarke feels the twist in her stomach that always comes when she remembers how hard this must be for Octavia. Two out of three of her favourite people can’t even be in the same room as each other. She deserves better. A rush of altruism crashes over her.

“Let him in, Octavia,” Clarke says tiredly, without turning around. “I’m making tea, do you want one?”

“Uh, thanks. Just black, thanks,” Bellamy says awkwardly and Clarke bites back the urge to tell him that she knows how he takes his tea. For Octavia, she reminds herself as she shuffles the cups in front of her, picking them all up and crossing back to the lounge room. She gives them their tea, and then curls up in the corner of the couch. Octavia is darting her eyes back and forth between them, and Clarke can tell she’s got no idea what’s going on. Bellamy’s refusing to look up from his mug, and Clarke just wants to go back to bed.

“Here are the ground rules,” Clarke says after a moment. “Octavia deserves better than our ridiculous silent treatment, so we’re going to be nice to each other. We aren’t going take stabs or pull at old wounds, we aren’t going to talk about relationships and we aren’t going to talk about the past.” Octavia is still flicking her eyes between them, more hopefully now, and Bellamy looks unhappy. Clarke sighs.

“I… I’m sorry. I can’t do that,” he says quietly, and Octavia’s face falls and Clarke wants to cry. “I want to, I really do. I want to be able to be friendly for Octavia and pretend like nothing ever happened. But it did and I can’t.” Octavia sighs and fixes him with her glare.

“If anyone here has the right to still be upset about this, it’s Clarke. And she’s acting like a grown up. Why can’t you?” Octavia challenges. Bellamy lets out a sharp breath and shakes his head.

“You know why, O,” Bellamy tells her. Clarke watches this with a mixture of grief and confusion. This should have happened years ago, she thinks. This should all be over and neatly packed away in little boxes that her mother would love. Instead it’s spilling over and messy and everywhere and there is a small part of her that thinks it is better than the boxes.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure I do. And I know Clarke sure doesn’t know why. Did you seriously tell her you still loved her yesterday?”  Octavia is shouting. Bellamy looks like someone has shoved a knife in his stomach, she’s seen that exact expression on a guy with a knife shoved in his stomach and it makes her laugh, just a little. But they stop and swivel their heads to look at her. She bites her lip.

“Sorry,” she offers. But they both keep looking at her. She sighs. “Look, I want… Octavia deserves better than our shit and she’s put up with it for long enough. But, Bell, you broke me. I can’t talk to you about that.” The room is quiet when she finishes, and everyone is looking down at their feet. Clarke doesn’t know who’s going to speak next, but she knows it’s not going to be her.

“I’m going out,” Octavia announces. They both start and look at her, scared. “You two clearly need to sort this out and I clearly do not need to be here for it.” She leaves and when the door closes behind her, Bellamy is looking at Clarke like she’s about to run away, and maybe she is.

“I wanted to… At the wedding I tried to…,” Bellamy tries, but Clarke shakes her head.

“If you want to, you would have. You didn’t want to badly enough,” she tells him. He laughs, but it’s a broken, desperate sound.

“Are you kidding me? I wanted to so badly I thought I couldn’t breathe. I came here because I had to get away and I had to change. I couldn’t… God, Clarke, you weren’t the only one who get messed up, alright?” he says, hand running through his hair.

“You were the one who chose this. I was going to keep fighting. I was ready to…,” Clarke begins, but her voice falters, and she flashes back to the tall red head in the green dress from the bar. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters, of course it matters,” Bellamy said desperately. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you. But you were a princess and I was a stable hand, it was never going to be forever, and I was always going to be holding you back.”

“Enough,” Clarke shouted. “Just… enough. It’s enough. It’s been long enough and you’ve said enough. Can we just please be friends now?”

“Not until you tell me you don’t love me,” Bellamy shouted back.

“Well, I can’t. Okay? I can’t. And it’s stupid and useless and I hate myself for it and I refuse to let it mean anything. I won’t let you break my heart again, Bell. So friends or nothing. What’ll it be?” Clarke challenged. Bellamy looked at her again like he had the knife in his stomach, but this time she didn’t laugh, because she was the knife.

“I won’t. I won’t, I promise I won’t,” he says, and it’s so quiet and unlike him that Clarke shivers. She shakes her head.

“You said we wouldn’t break up. You said you’d be there for me no matter what. You said you wouldn’t let me my mother ruin it. You said we were a princess and a stable hand. So tell me, what’s changed? Why should I trust you now?” she asked, her voice cold. She wanted to be scornful. For knives and poison to spill off her lips and stab him again and again. She wanted her empty heart to be filled with the right, magic words that would make it all right, make it safe. But he said nothing. They sat in silence, drinking their tea. Clarke knew she should say something to him, tell him to leave, or yell at him again. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. She just waited.

“I haven’t been happy without you either,” he says eventually. “But if this is what you want, if this is going to make you happy, then okay. We’ll be friends for Octavia. It doesn’t change how I feel about you though, and I’m not going to pretend it does. But I’m not going harp on about it.” Clarke waited for relief to fill her chest and ease her twisting stomach, but it didn’t come.

“Thank you,” she says finally, and they don’t say anything else until Octavia returns. The first smile they give her doesn’t reach their eyes, but her joy at the resolution is contagious, and Clarke is happy.

\---

**Later**

They do not speak to each other when Octavia is not there, they do not do coffee or socialise. They orbit Octavia, still, but when they collide at least it is light and friendly. Clarke pretends she doesn’t hear them whispering at the baby shower almost a year after their agreement. She knows that he looks at her when she is not looking, sees it in reflections, the occasional photograph, and out of the corner of her eye. Octavia has seen it too.

“Even after all this time?” Octavia asks.

“Always, O. I’m always going to love her,” Bellamy whispers angrily, fed up like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Octavia had snickered.

“This is such a Harry Potter moment,” she teased him, lightening the mood, and Clarke ran back to the party without her refill.

 

The first time he calls her is to say that the baby is coming. He was already back home with Octavia, had been there when it started. Clarke thanks him politely and says that she is on their way. When she hangs up, she doesn’t let the awkwardness linger and she doesn’t wish he’d call just because. She was trying to date again, but it wasn’t working. His eyes never left her head, and on the six hour drive she wondered if there was anything she could actually do about it. Or if they were doomed to just circle each other forever. If not speaking hadn’t cured them, she couldn’t see how speaking would.

 

The photo that Lincoln takes of them does not help. Clarke is holding the newly born Aurora in her arms and Bellamy is hovering over her shoulder, the closest he has been to her since the day he shoved her against a wall, but he’s using his index finger to rub Aurora’s stomach.  Clarke looks up at him, just  for a moment, he looks down at her. There’s something in his eyes that scares and makes her want to kiss him, so she turns back to Aurora, but before she does, the camera flashes, and they’re immortalised in this photo where they look like they’re the parents.  When Lincoln posts it on facebook, she doesn’t like it. She looks at it and cries over what could have been.

 

They continue to dance around each other, falling silent when they aren’t in public. Octavia is overjoyed that her birthday and Christmas brings everyone together. And Clarke knows that she’s doing the right thing, even on the days she wants to call it all off, to give up and say that she just can’t do it because she can’t even make it all the way through a date anymore without seeing his stupid face. She wants to stop loving him. Needs to. But the truth is, for all they don’t talk to each other, she knows everything about him again. Knows why he became a cop, that he still volunteers at shelters, and that he hasn’t had a relationship longer than a month since her. Can still see the things that she loved about him, how clever and kind and thoughtful and full of mischief and teasing he is. He’s still Bellamy in all the ways that count. She wants to ask him if he understands now why she said he couldn’t love her. Because he’s still Bellamy and she’s a shell masquerading as Clarke. She volunteers at a clinic when she can, and works stupidly long hours, and doesn’t laugh with her head thrown back. And she never, ever paints.

But it is Aurora’s first birthday and Clarke wants to paint her something. It takes her days of staring at a blank canvas, scared of the paint and pencils and colours, before she can begin. But she paints the night sky with the aurora borealis dancing. She hints at the constellations with almost there images and pretends it doesn’t remind her of Bellamy. And when it is finished she takes a pencil and writes on the back ‘For Aurora, may you always light up the night sky and know you are loved’. She wraps it in brown paper and string and she knows that it is a silly gift to give a one year old, and on the drive there she stops and buys a teddy bear to make up for it. She arrives in a rush of hugs and how-are-yous and cheek kisses. She does not expect Miller to be there, smiling at her pleasantly, and she smiles back, happy that she has someone else to talk to. She’s seen him a few times now at various things and they’ve always gotten along well. Octavia’s other friends are all smiling, vaguely harried women with children and husbands and she doesn’t really know how to talk to them. She is the last one to arrive and they settle down to open the presents. When Octavia opens the canvas she stares at it and begins to cry.

“Clarke, it’s… it’s so beautiful,” she says, looking at her as if she communicate all of the love she feels in a look. Clarke blushes.

“I just… wanted to paint something for her,” she replies quietly. Octavia shook her head.

“But you don’t paint anymore. You said you couldn’t,” Octavia whispers. Bellamy moves to look at the painting and the look on his face tells her that she can see the painting she said he inspired in it. He looks at her, heartbreak in his face, and suddenly Clarke can’t stay.

“It’s just a painting. For her. I, uh, I need some air. Excuse me,” she manages, and ignores the stares of everyone else who has no idea what is going on as almost runs out of the room. She hadn’t meant to make it a spectacle, hadn’t want to, but she had. She felt her mother scolding her gently, reprimanding her, and she tried to shake it off. She sat on the front steps of the house and tries to catch her breath, tries to get rid of their expressions from her mind.

“Are you okay?” Miller asks her, coming down to sit beside her. Clarke starts, looking up at him. If anyone was to follow her… she wasn’t expecting it to be him. She offers him a shaking smile.

“I will be. I didn’t think… I should have given it after or something. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s hardly a gift for a one year old,” Clarke rambles. Miller laughs beside her. It’s a kind sound.

“It’s okay. But seriously, you didn’t even seem this shaken up after going toe to toe with a bomber,” Miller teases her. “Who knew you had any fear at all?” Clarke laughs then and smiles at him.

“Thanks Miller,” she says, and leans her head on his shoulder in gratitude. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and they stare out at the street.

“We should go back in,” Clarke says, right at the same time that Miller says: “Do you want to have coffee with me sometime?” They look at each other and laugh. But Clarke shakes her head.

“Look, I know you and Bellamy have history. But it’s over, right? And I figure I’ve probably waited long enough after the awkward reunion to make a move,” Miller offers, explaining himself. Clarke smiles at him sadly, and the sadness wells up within her and threatens to make her start crying in earnest.

“Did you ask Bellamy if it was okay?” Clarke asks him, the first thing that pops into her head, and he shifts awkwardly, it’s clear that he didn’t. “Then you know that I can’t.” He nods his head, bowing it for a moment before smiling up at her.

“I had to try,” he tells her, shoving her gently, and she laughs, grateful for him and his humour and his ability to make it okay. They stand up together, and he offers his arm, and she takes it. They make it back on the porch as Bellamy makes it to the door. He looks between them, and to their linked arms, and his face hardens. They disentangle as he opens the door.

“What’s going on here?” Bellamy asks, his voice even, polite. Clarke sighs.

“Nothing is going on,” Miller says. “I asked her out and she said no and we’re still friends.” Clarke sees the betrayal flash in Bellamy’s eyes, and Miller stiffens beside her.

“You seriously asked her out? Clarke?” Bellamy asks in disbelief. Miller is about to say something but she places a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“What? Because no one else is supposed to want me, Bellamy?” she challenges instead, and she knows and knows and knows she’s picking a fight that she shouldn’t be picking. It goes against every rule they made when they said they’d do this for Octavia. Miller flinches beside her and she hates herself. She takes a deep breath even as Bellamy goes to say something. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Can we just… not do this?” she asks instead. Bellamy shakes his head.

“You started this. You broke the rules,” Bellamy begins.

“I’m sorry too, man. I shouldn’t have… I should have asked if it was okay first,” Miller interjects. Clarke fights the urge to argue that no one gets a say in who she dates except her, to go on a rant about how she doesn’t belong to Bellamy just because he broke her heart once… except she’s afraid that she might be wrong. Bellamy nods at Miller, and somehow that communicates everything that needs to be said, and Miller gives her an apologetic smile as he slips inside the house past Bellamy. Clarke stands there, waiting for the inevitable shouting and fall out that will end in tears that hers and Octavia’s. Instead, Bellamy takes a deep breath, looking at the ground, and then looks back up at her.

“The painting was phenomenal,” he says. And it’s not what she was expecting to hear, and she can’t fight the blush rising in her cheeks. She nods. “It reminded me of the one you did of Andromeda after the night in the park.” She looks away, guilty as charged. There is a pause that is pregnant with everything he is about to say and she has to fight the urge to run away. “Clarke, you were right. You were right when I said I didn’t love you because I didn’t know who you were anymore.” She raises her eyes to look at him and lets her eyes fill with tears. This isn’t exactly what she wanted to hear, but maybe, just maybe this is the thing that’s going to make it okay. That’s going to make her able to go on dates and get back to her life. But she doesn’t say anything, just waits for him to say more.

“I’m sorry for springing it on you. It wasn’t fair. But… I know I don’t know you again, not like I did. But we’ve been if not friends, then friendly for two years. I know you enough, I think, to say this and not get yelled at: I know we got off to a bad start, again. But can we start over? Maybe have coffee?” he asks, and there’s something in his eyes that she can’t quite recognise and she wonders if it is hope.

“Like a date? Or like a ‘let’s be friends for Octavia’ coffee?” she asks, and she wonders if she is keeping the humour out of her voice, and the hope, and the fear. He smiles at her then, and it’s the smile he used to give her when he arrived home and she had paint on her nose, and he was so happy to see her. It makes her stomach flip.

“Definitely a date,” he says firmly. He looks at her again, and he must see her hesitation, because his smile falters slightly and he adds, “A first date. Just coffee.” She swallows down hard on the lump in her throat and ignores the fluttering in her stomach.

“Okay.”


	2. Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys asked for a happy ending.

**Now**

It was strange waking up in the morning without him there. Sometimes  their schedules wouldn’t match for months at a time. Night shifts and important cases and thirteen hour days. Sometimes she’d only see him when she opened her eyes and rolled over to look at his shirtless body, face down in his pillow with a limb thrown over her for days at a time. Or she’d wake up and find him in the apartment, brushing his teeth, or watching TV, or attempting to cook chilli and burning out yet another goddamned pot in the process. But he wasn’t here at all, and she curled herself around his pillow and breathed in the scent of him.  Sometimes she wondered if it were just nostalgia that made the scent as comforting and safe as it was, but she knew what he’d say if he heard her. And she knew the truth. Eight months, and then eight years, and now two years. Nostalgia might play a part but the plain and simple truth is that she loves him beyond words and he always makes her feel safe.

“Do you have any regrets?” he asked her, just twelve hours ago, holding her hand and looking into her eyes. She smiled and laughed and kissed him.

“How could I? You’re not perfect, but you’re perfect for me,” she’d replied. And he’d held her so tightly she wondered if he were trying to memorise her, or hold her together, or just keep her with him for a little bit longer.

\---

**Then**

It started with a coffee date that accidentally turned into a dinner and a soft, lingering kiss on the sidewalk that felt too much like nostalgia.

 

“I missed you,” Bellamy admits, quietly, honestly, as they draw away from the kiss. Clarke worries they are echoing footsteps they have already walked and it must have shown on her face. He catches her face in the palm of his hand. “I know this seems like we’re on repeat. But we’re not. I promise.” Clarke bites her lip and looks up at his brown, earnest eyes.

“It’s a little like we’re on repeat,” she tests out, but he doesn’t look away. She wants to be scared of the intensity, and on anyone else she would be. Perhaps there is too much history for this to work.

“I won’t let it be. I promise. For our next date I’ll take you somewhere new,” he promises and she laughs a little.

“Our next date, huh?” Clarke teases him, and he smirks.

“Come on, there’s definitely going to be a next date,” Bellamy says confidently. And she laughs again. This is the first date in two years she’s managed to finish, the first one that’s ended with her laughter in longer. There’s going to be a second date, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to make him work for it.

“We’ll see,” Clarke replies lightly, teasing him with a smile and starts to walk away, but he catches her wrist and pulls her back. His hand on her wrist. It’s just a gesture from anyone else, but with him it has always felt like an act of possession and it makes desire flare up inside of her. When she flicks her eyes up to his from his grip, his face has lost some of the teasing.

“C’mon Princess,” he says, and it’s chastising and honest, and she understands that he’s scared she’s going to walk away and change her mind and it will back to being two people who orbit Octavia and don’t look at each other at the same time. In his defense, it’s not like she hasn’t given him cause to be scared.

“Nope, this is a first date. You’re going to have to woo me,” she announces. And he grins wickedly.

“I can do that,” Bellamy agrees, and Clarke smiles at him and she knows that he already has. A wicked grin and a promise of more. Clarke doesn’t remember being so easy.

 

He sends her flowers the next day. She can’t name a single one of them but she knows that he probably can, and that he problem chose every stem in the arrangement. She doesn’t think anyone has ever done that for her before. They are an array of blues and purples and whites and the card just says ‘Friday 8pm, no repeats’. She laughs at his idiocy and his thoughtfulness and just at him and this stupid situation. She sends him a message telling him he’s an idiot, and he replies saying that he’s glad that she liked the flowers. She is warned to wear comfortable shoes for their date and she is curious, but he doesn’t give anything away. When he pulls up in front of a laser tag arcade, she laughs, and he says ‘I promised you something different, Princess’. She tries to pretend that she is not eminently charmed. When he drives her home three hours later and they are full of bad beer and soggy fries, and exhausted from laughing and running, she tells him that she’s never had so much fun on a second date.

“Our first second date was pretty great,” Bellamy reminds her, as they sit in the parked car outside her apartment building and look at each other. Clarke shakes her head.

“Nope. The movie was awful and we had fun, but this is better,” Clarke tells him, beaming. She can’t remember the last time she beamed or laughed with her head thrown back, but she’s done both tonight. Bellamy is beaming right back at her.

“So, best second date ever? Where does it rate in all-time greatest dates?” he asks her, and she’s glad because for a second she thought he was going to say something nostalgic or hopeful.

“Umm, probably third. The best date I ever had was the night we went star-gazing,” Clarke begins.

“Which time?” Bellamy interrupts.

“The Andromeda night,” Clarke replies.

“That wasn’t a date. That was a ‘Clarke needs a break’ excursion,” Bellamy informs her. She swats at him.

“Nope, it was a date. It was one of my favourite nights of all time. Okay. The second best date I ever had was when Finn took me to this cocktail party at the museum and we sneaked off to look at all the exhibits in the dark and hid from security and snuck back into the party,” Clarke continues.

“When was Finn?” Bellamy asks. Clarke grimaces.

“Finn was the worst. Can we not talk about Finn?” she asks. Bellamy raises his eyebrows.

“You brought it up,” he cautions. “What was so bad about him?” She sighs.

“Four years ago. He seemed great but turns out I was the other woman. The worst,” Clarke reconfirms. “What about you? Worst relationship you’ve had?” Bellamy turns his head to look at the windscreen and away from her, his face pensive.

“Fair’s fair, I guess. Uh… probably Roma. Six years ago. She was just… really clingy. Wouldn’t leave my place for like two days, convinced I’d change my mind. But I don’t know, none of them really hurt me like…,” Bellamy’s voice trails off as he turns back to look at her. She swallows down hard.

“No. I mean, same. Finn was… awful, but it was nothing on…,” Clarke begins and then looks down at her lap. She’s about to launch into a panic, when Bellamy places his hand on hers. Her eyes follow his arm back up to look at his face.

“We’re not those people anymore, Clarke. We’re not on repeat,” he reassures her. She nods.

“This is my first second date in three years,” she admits. “I’m scared. Not just because of you.” He smiles at her softly.

“Well how about a third?” Bellamy asks her, and she can’t stop the small smile that finds her lips as nods her head once. Bellamy’s smiling again, and he leans forward to kiss her. There is something about kissing him that is both familiar and strange, and she knows it would be easy to keep kissing him, lead him by the mouth up to her apartment and tear off his clothes. But he breaks the kiss and places his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

“I have to go,” he says, his voice breathy. “Now. Before I forget it’s a second date.” Clarke lets out a breathy laugh.

“That sounds like a good idea,” she whispers back. “My self-control isn’t what it should be, it seems.” He groans and pulls away.

“You’re not making this easier,” he tells her, and she knows she is meant to be chastened, but she just laughs.

“When’s our next date?” she asks him, and he grins at her.

“It’s not all going to be laser tag, Princess. I’m thinking a nice boring dinner at a nice boring restaurant,” Bellamy tells her, but she shakes her head.

“No. Take me to your favourite food in the city. Boring restaurants are boring people. They don’t tell anyone anything about you,” Clarke replies and Bellamy laughs.

“How do you know my favourite food isn’t from a boring restaurant?” he challenges. She smiles, considering her answer.

“Because I just do,” she says, in the end, and it’s only half of what she could have said, but it was enough for both of them.

\---

**Now**

Clarke’s been lounging in bed for half an hour before the insistent knocking drags her out of bed. She’s half way out of the room when she figures answering the door in nothing but one of Bellamy’s t-shirts is a bad idea, so she yanks on sweat pants as she moves through the apartment to her front door.

“Why aren’t you up already?” Octavia is half through yelling when Clarke opens the door. Octavia grins at her and offers take away coffee and a paper bag that contains some form of pastry. Clarke accepts them gratefully and stands aside to allow her entrance.

“So, it’s today,” Octavia says carefully, as though trying not to let all her emotions overtake the words. Clarke nods. “How do you feel?” Clarke shakes her head.

“I don’t know how to even begin answering that question. Everything. I feel everything,” Clarke says, before sipping her coffee. She makes a hum of appreciation as the warm milk hits her tongue, and she leans back on the couch.

“Well, you’re clearly not excited enough yet because we’ve got about an hour to get to the hairdresser and you’re still in your pajamas,” Octavia replies, scolding her, and Clarke laughs.

“And how are you feeling?” Clarke asks her teasingly. Octavia laughs and shakes her head.

“I can’t believe it’s happening at all. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’s all going to have been a dream,” Octavia says, wonder in her tone. Clarke grins.

“Nope, this is real life. Real and messy and awesome,” she replies.  Octavia screws up her nose.

“You’re getting sappy in your old age, Clarke Griffin.”

“I seem to recall you being rather sappy, what, nine years ago?”

“Shut up and have a shower,” Octavia instructs, and Clarke, laughing, obeys.

\---

**Then**

“Bell, I think it’s time,” Clarke says, leaning against Bellamy’s chest while he channel hops. It’s 11am on a Tuesday morning and they’ve both been working night shifts. The coffee table is still covered with the leftovers of the burgers he’d picked up on closing and they’d reheated at 7am for breakfast/dinner. Bellamy groans. She shifts up to look at him. He sighs, looking at her.

“I don’t want to,” he says. “She’s not going to like it.” Clarke raised her eyebrows. “Don’t give me that look, you know she’s not going to like it and you know why she’s not going to like it.”

“We have to. And I’m ready to tell her. But if you aren’t ready to tell her then we don’t have to,” Clarke says, and starts quietly panicking that he isn’t ready to tell her. He sighs again.

“I love you. You know I love you, but… wait… you’re ready to tell her?” Bellamy asks, shifting to look at her properly. Clarke nods, and tries to offer him a smile, but she finds that she can’t until she knows what happens next. “We said we’d tell her when we were really sure that this was serious,” he clarifies. Clarke nods again.

“Well, it’s been three months,” Clarke offers. Bellamy shakes his head.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he says. “I mean, we don’t tell her until we’re serious… kind of means we don’t tell her until we think this is going to last.” He’s looking at her carefully, and Clarke blushes, but nods again.

“It’s okay if you don’t yet. I’m just… putting it out there. Like, I’m not about to propose marriage or anything. But… I don’t know. What do you think?” Clarke asks. Bellamy as looking at her in disbelief and she wants nothing more for him to say something because she’s pretty sure she’s going to start rambling in earnest in a minute, and that’s not going to help anyone.

“No, I mean… I was serious from the beginning. I… Clarke, you know, don’t you? You know how I feel about you, about us?” his voice is full of emotion and his hand is cupping her face and she leans into it, and nods. He kisses her then, leaning in quickly, pulling her into him and holding her close.

“Okay. We’ll tell her,” Bellamy agrees when they break apart and Clarke grins happily.

“Good, because I told her I’d visit this weekend, and I know you aren’t working,” she says, and he groans.

“It’s a good thing I love you, Clarke Griffin,” he says and she laughs, and snuggles back into his side.

“I love you too, Bellamy Blake.”

 

Octavia is, unsurprisingly, not happy. She had started out very happy, when Clarke pulled up outside her house and Bellamy was there to surprise her.

“Oh my goodness, Bell! I didn’t know you were coming too,” Octavia squeals, wrapping them each up in a hug. And then she stops. “Actually, last I heard you weren’t speaking outside of social events I’d arranged.” She frowns. Clarke and Bellamy exchange a glance, and Octavia’s face falls.

“No,” she says firmly. “Not again. We are not doing this again.” Octavia turns on her heel and storms into the house, shouting for Lincoln. “Those idiots are doing it again! And I WON’T HAVE IT!” They know they should be chastened, but they grin at each other anyway.

“Oh we’re definitely doing it again,” Bellamy says quietly, taking her hand, and Clarke laughs. They barely make it to the porch when Octavia flies out of the house, screen door slamming.

“No, you aren’t allowed. You were just friends again. This isn’t okay. You can’t just-,” Octavia rages at them, but she’s cut off by Lincoln picking her up and covering her mouth, dragging her back inside. He smiles at them apologetically.

“You know how she feels about surprises,” Lincoln says, and nods his head to offer them entrance. “We’re just going to take five and calm down. Make yourselves at home.” They watch in amusement as he drags a struggling Octavia to their bedroom.

 

Octavia and Lincoln are sitting next to each other on the couch opposite Clarke and Bellamy, who are sitting in separate arm chairs. Clarke feels vaguely like a small child being chastised by her parents, but Bellamy is clearly finding this more amusing than anything else.

“How long?” Octavia grinds out and Lincoln strokes her back reassuringly.

“Three months,” Clarke offers.

“Aurora’s birthday. After the painting. I asked her out for coffee and she said yes,” Bellamy adds. He pauses. “Well, Miller asked her out first, and she said no. Which ended up breaking the no talking about relationships rule, so I took a chance.” Clarke laughed a little, she’d almost forgotten about Miller asking her out. Octavia scowled at her.

“You mean to tell me that after months of complaining to me about failed dates, you get asked out twice in one day and you don’t even tell me about it?” Octavia asks.

“In my defense, you weren’t going to be happy about it. And we decided to wait to tell you until we were sure that we were serious about this. That it wasn’t just… nostalgia or something,” Clarke says, smiling.

“This is all your fault,” Octavia turns on Bellamy. He’s about to defend himself, but she cuts him off. “You’ve been mooning over her for years and now you’ve got what you wanted. Well. What about when this doesn’t work and I have to go back to choosing who comes to what?” Lincoln puts his arm around his wife and kisses her temple.

“Sweetheart, you need to calm down a bit. I know that this is hard for you. But they’re not doing it to upset you,” Lincoln reminds her. Octavia takes a few breaths, and nods.

“I’ve always loved her. But it’s different. We’re different now, and we’re making it work. We’re not reliving old times. It’s… I don’t know, O. I knew you were going to hate this, I did. But this thing between us… it’s not nostalgia or just because. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her, if she lets me. And if it doesn’t work this time, and it will work, but if it doesn’t… I promise it won’t be like last time. It was my fault, and I own that. But I’m not in my early twenties anymore, and I’m not going to pick a fight to break her heart because I think I’m not good enough for her,” Bellamy says quietly. Clarke fights the blush on her cheeks and wishes she was sitting close enough to kiss his cheek and press her face into his shoulder and inhale his scent. It’s nothing she didn’t already know, that he hasn’t already said, but it seems so much more real and official now that he’s telling Octavia. She wants to tell him that she understands the reasoning behind what he did, even though she hated it, and she wants to tell him all the reasons he’s perfect for her. But Octavia is levelling her gaze at her now, and it’s not the time.

“What about you then?” Octavia asks, still clearly upset, though perhaps slightly pacified by her brother’s speech. Clarke sighs.

“You know how much I loved him then. And I always have. But he’s right when he says it’s different now. And you don’t get to know the future, but we’re all grown up, and honestly? I trust him again, and I never thought I would. Your brother was an idiot, still is sometimes, but I’ve given him my heart again. So yeah, I think we’re in this for the long haul, Tav,” Clarke says. She risks a glance at Bellamy, who’s looking at her like she hung the moon or something and the blush she’s been fighting colours her cheeks, and she looks away, down at her hands folded calmly in her lap. Octavia huffs, and Clarke glances up at her.

“You have to promise me that any break up will be as amicable as possible and it will take no longer than three months for you to sort your shit out and be civil again,” Octavia tells them. Bellamy and Clarke nod. Octavia folds her arms across her chest and leans back against Lincoln. “Fine. I’ll allow it. But I swear to god you guys better not fuck this up. I’m looking at you, Bell.”

“I won’t. I promise,” Bellamy reassures her.

“Now that’s sorted, I need to check on Aurora, and then Clarke and I are going to have some girl time because I have to tell you some things that no one else is gonna wanna hear,” Octavia says with a wink as she walks out of the room. Clarke and Bellamy take a moment to smile at each other, but Lincoln’s sigh pulls them back.

“You guys really need to not fuck this up. I’m happy for you, I am, but it used to kill Octavia when you weren’t speaking. And I don’t think either of you knew how devastated she was when you broke up. You better know what you’re doing,” he says. Clarke nods, and Bellamy runs his hand through his hair.

“I’m not going to mess this up again. You don’t get many second chances in life,” Bellamy says quietly. Lincoln smiles at him.

“You better not, because I love Clarke like a sister and I will kick your ass this time,” Lincoln says, and Bellamy lets out a nervous laugh. Clarke smiles at Lincoln, he’s not said that before and it fills her with warmth.

“I’d let you,” Bellamy promises.  Clarke can tell he’s serious, even as Lincoln laughs and she joins in and Bellamy smiles. There is something in Bellamy’s voice that settles the last doubt that Clarke had and the future becomes a place that he belongs in, not an optional extra.

\---

**Now**

Abby is waiting for them at the salon, replete with clipboard and personal assistant hovering with coffees. She is drilling the hairdresser and make-up artist like they are soldiers in a war she is fighting. Clarke smiles at them apologetically, but they are like forest animals in the face of a predator and they dart their gaze back to Abby quickly.

“Your mother is kind of intense right now,” Octavia whispers. “Not that she isn’t ever intense. But like, wow. More intense.” Clarke screws up her nose, used to her mother in a way that no one else is, except perhaps the string of personal assistants that she burns through.

“She gets like this when she’s nervous,” Clarke confides. Octavia raises disbelieving eyebrows.

“What has she got to be nervous about? She’s already the governor, how much harder can this be?” Octavia asks. Clarke almost tells her that she’s nervous if something goes wrong that Clarke will walk away from her, and this time she won’t ever come back. But she doesn’t, because Harper arrives and Abby crosses the room to stand in front of her. She almost looks like she’s going to hug her, and Clarke thinks that she would have let her. Today, she would have let her. So she smiles at her mother like they don’t have rivers of blood between them spanned by one rickety bridge.  Abby smiles back, and it’s shaky but it’s genuine. It’s been a while since Clarke has seen Abby’s real smile, and not the one she puts on for the cameras and cocktail parties.

“Hey mum,” Clarke says, and Abby blinks in shock and smiles a little wider. It’s been a long time since she wasn’t ‘mother’. It’s a gift Clarke is giving her, and she accepts it gratefully.

“Hey Clarke. Octavia, Harper. How are you feeling?” Abby asks, looking into Clarke’s eyes, searching for the truth.

“Why does everyone keep asking me how I’m feeling?” Clarke asks. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.” Everyone gives her disbelieving looks.

“Well, I wasn’t fine,” Octavia says eventually. “And I’m not fine.” Clarke laughs.

“And I wouldn’t be fine,” Harper adds. Abby shakes her head.

“I threw up twice,” Abby confides, and they are all laughing, slightly hysterical, and stupidly happy.

\---

**Then**

 

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice sounds unsure as he leans in the door way, watching her brush her teeth. She spits into the sink and looks back at him in the mirror.

“Yeah?” she asks. She’s mentally reviewing the plan for the day and wondering if she’s going to have time before they have to leave for Octavia’s to get some laundry done, because it’s been over a week and she’s running out of clothes. Again.

“Are you happy?” he asks, and the question is a surprise, so she drops her toothbrush in the holder and turns to face him, leaning against the sink, and considers him.

“Yeah, I am. Really happy,” she tells him, smiling, and his face lights up.

“Good, just wanted to make sure,” he says, before disappearing out of the bathroom. Clarke frowns.

“Wait, are you happy?” she calls after him, not moving. He leans so he can see her through the door frame.

“Blissfully,” he tells her as he buttons his shirt and she smirks at him.

“You’re such an idiot sometimes, Bell,” she says, turning back to the sink to rinse out her mouth.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot. And you love me. And you’re happy. So I don’t care,” he says, and somehow he’s right behind her groping her ass. She spits out her mouthful of water with a laugh and turns to him, wrapping her hands around his neck.

“I really love you, you idiot,” she says affectionately. He leans down to kiss her, and it turns out she’s late to work, so she doesn’t have time for laundry and she’s pretty sure she doesn’t mind at all.

 

Octavia and Lincoln have left two year old Aurora at home with a sitter to go out to dinner with Clarke and Bellamy. Clarke is impressed and nervous simultaneously, because they so rarely pay a sitter, and never when it’s family who don’t mind hanging out around the house. Octavia has tried to reassure her twice that it’s not about anything other than it’s really nice to have a night out on a double date without thinking about bodily functions. Clarke remains suspicious, and rightly so, apparently.

“So, we may have a slight ulterior motive for going out to dinner,” Octavia admits during dessert. Clarke raises an eyebrow that communicates that she knew this was the case, but Bellamy beside her looks genuinely surprised.  There is a pause, and Lincoln shoves his wife’s shoulder gently.

“I’m pregnant again,” Octavia announces, and Clarke laughs with happiness and presses her fingers to her lips as if she can keep the joy in. When she glances at Bellamy he’s grinning like he’s the father, and it makes her stomach clench slightly with something she can’t name.

“Not quite three months yet, but I had to tell you. I’m so excited,” Octavia says.

“We’re so excited,” Lincoln corrects her with a smile, and they grin at each other for a moment.

“And the best thing is, this time when we name you godparents if anything happens we don’t have to worry about a custody battle,” Octavia teases them, and Clarke laughs again and shakes her head, but Bellamy just smiles wider and puts an arm around her shoulder.

“I feel like I should know what to say, but I guess I’m in emergency medicine for a reason,” Clarke says after a moment. “I don’t know what to say!”

“How about, when are you due?” Bellamy asks.

“November thirteenth. But Rory was a little prem,” Octavia says.

“I was prem and you were almost a month late,” Bellamy supplies. Lincoln laughs.

“God, I hope she’s not a month over. I barely survived last time,” he says. Octavia swats at him and Clarke doesn’t quite understand why there are tears in her eyes, except that she understands now what Bellamy meant when he said he was blissfully happy that morning.

 

Later, when they’re lying side by side in the guest room, Bellamy turns on his side to look down at her.

“That’s going to be us one day,” he says softly. Clarke looks at him wide-eyed.

“You haven’t proposed yet. We haven’t talked about kids,” Clarke says, but she stops before she gets to the ‘what makes you so sure’ part, because she knows the answer to that.

“Do you want kids?” Bellamy asks, his voice soft, and his hand trailing up and down her body gently. She takes a minute to think about it. If she’s honest, there hasn’t been a point in her life since she started med school that she’s seriously considered it.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know,” Clarke whispers. “I’m getting older and our jobs don’t exactly allow for a regular schedule and I had a terrible role model.” Bellamy’s hand freezes on her and takes a breath.

“I want kids, Clarke,” he says carefully, quietly. Clarke feels her stomach clench. They don’t talk much about their past, but back then, they’d both wanted kids, wanted them together. At least one.  She knows he’s waiting for her to say something else, but she doesn’t know what to say. The silence stretches out, neither of them moving, and Clarke begins to wonder if this is it, the beginning of the end. Again.

“I can’t promise that I’m going to want them,” she says finally, because it has to be said. “I love Rory with all my heart, and I love being her aunt. But I also don’t want to stop being a doctor or resent my child because it’s stopping me from doing what I want. And I don’t want you to resent me, or our child either. I don’t know.” Her voice finishes as a whisper and Bellamy moves away from her, and the cold air where his hand used to be makes her feel sick.

“I think I need to take a walk,” is all he says, and he’s pulling on a pair of jeans and shoving his feet in shoes and walking out the door before she has time to respond. She lays in the dark and tries not to cry when she hears the front door shut behind him.

\---

**Now**

“Have you heard from him?” Clarke asks Octavia, and she doesn’t need to say who she means. They are sipping champagne with full faces of make-up, and their hair pulled back in tight ponytails in the salon, watching Abby transform, and Harper’s hair twisted into an elegant braid. Octavia shakes her head.

“You know the rules. Nothing about either of you to either of you,” Octavia teases. Clarke huffs and rolls her eyes. She wants to know. But she won’t ask again. She’s surprised she’s held out this long, really.

“Will tell me how Lincoln is?” Clarke tried and Octavia laughed.

“Lincoln is fine. He’s a little hung over, but he’s fine. And, you know, he misses his girls,” Octavia says. Clarke smiles.

“I love that you got so lucky with him,” she says. Octavia smiles in a contented way that she has developed with age. Her wicked grin makes an appearance every now and then, and while they don’t go skinny dipping on nights that bring frost anymore, they still have a lot of fun. But they’re all grown up, and Clarke is glad they’re still friends a decade on.

“Me too. Also, our kids are crazy attractive,” Octavia says, and Clarke laughs again and the irreverent tone Octavia takes. But she’s not lying, Aurora and Anya are both beautiful, even as babies. Sometimes, Clarke feels a stab of jealousy for the life that Octavia has. It’s exactly the one she set out to have a ten years ago, and Clarke wishes sometimes that she had been so lucky. But you can’t change the past and there are too many what-ifs.

“They are, it’s true,” Clarke agrees.

“We’re definitely not biased at all,” Octavia says. Clarke grins.

“Well, maybe just a little,” Clarke admits. There is a moment of silence and Octavia puts her hand on top of Clarke’s.

“Are you really okay?” Octavia asks quietly. Clarke smiles and nods.

“Yeah,” she says, “I really am.” And it’s the truth.

\---

**Then**

 

When she wakes up the next morning, he’s there beside her, but she slips away before he wakes up and goes down to breakfast. Octavia knows there is something wrong before Clarke opens her mouth. But she doesn’t say anything, just looks at her in a way that makes her feel like this heartbreak will be shared.

“How’s the morning sickness?” Clarke asks instead. When all she wants to say is ‘I think Bellamy is going to leave me’ but she can’t because that would make it real.

“It’s not so bad. Mainly it’s 3pm sickness so at least I get to be productive before I spend an hour in the bathroom,” Octavia replies, even though her face is asking ‘what’s wrong?’. Bellamy appears behind her, but he doesn’t touch her, just moves around getting breakfast, and Octavia looks like she’s going to break. Clarke hates everything about this dumb situation.

“I need some air,” Clarke says, and disappears out the back door to sit on the cold plastic outdoor furniture and try not to cry. She can hear the siblings argue in the kitchen.

“What did you do, Bellamy?”

“Nothing. It’s none of your business, Octavia.”

“It’s my business because she’s my best friend and I knew this would happen.”

“Nothing is happening. It’s just… we might want different things, that’s all,” Bellamy says, and while he starts out shouting, he finishes with such heartbreak in his voice that Clarke can’t help the tears that start to fall.

“Well you need to decide if you want ‘things’ or if you want her. Because you’re not going to get another shot at this, Bell,” Octavia says, and while she’s being her usual blunt self, there is something comforting in her voice. Clarke can’t hear the rest of the conversation, and she tries to wipe away the tears and just breathe. Deep breathes, in and out.

 

They barely speak to each other as they pack up their belongings, silently agreeing to go back a day earlier. Clarke tries to ignore the way Octavia has never looked more fragile, and Lincoln has never looked more sad. She wishes she could regret the past eight months, but she can’t. They drive for four hours without speaking more than absolutely necessary about bathroom breaks and food. By the time Bellamy pulls up outside their apartment, Clarke is sure that it is over and done with. The second the car is turned off she unbuckles her seatbelt and goes to leap out of the car, but his hand is on her wrist, holding her in place.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Bellamy says, and his voice is loaded with all of the heartbreak she knows is coming, and Clarke can’t breathe. She jerks her wrist away from him, and leans back. She wants to run, but she knows that if she leaves this car, they’ll never talk about it again.

“I love you so much, Clarke, and I can’t just not talk to you,” Bellamy begins, eyes searching her face. His words aren’t want she was expecting, but it’s too early to feel relieved when she has no idea where this is going. She licks her lips and waits. “I know I handled it badly last night. And I know that we aren’t kids anymore and that our lives are different. But there’s a part of me that forgets we can’t have the same dreams we used to, and I’m sorry. I want kids, I do, and that’s probably not going to change, but the fact of the matter is… I want you more. I’d rather no kids with you than kids with anyone else.” There is a part of her that is ready to breathe out and let the tension knotted in her stomach go. But she can’t. Because he’s right, and they’re both adults, and if he wants kids, and that’s going to be his choice, then he needs to leave now and find someone who can offer him that. There’s a part of her that wants to say that they don’t know the future, and maybe it will happen someday, but she doesn’t want to give him false hope either.

“You can’t know how you’re going to feel about that in the future, and I don’t want you to regret this,” Clarke says softly. Bellamy’s jaw twitches and he runs a hand through his hair. Clarke thinks she’s going to throw up, and she wonders if she’s being really brave, or really stupid. “I don’t want to stop you from having the life that you want, Bell. And you deserve it, you do. You deserve kids. You’d be a great dad. But I’m not sure that it’s something I can give you, and it breaks my heart, but it’s the truth.”

“No,” Bellamy says suddenly, grabbing both her hands in his, holding her in place. “Don’t do this.” Clarke feels the tears start and she wishes she could stop them. Instead she shrugs helplessly.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that you don’t want to play catch with your kids in the park, and help them with homework, and read them mythology at bedtime. Tell me that it doesn’t break your heart to think you might not get that,” Clarke says, or more accurately, sobs. Bellamy is shaking his head, but she can see the truth on his face.

“Don’t do this, Clarke. Please. Can we… please don’t do this. I know, I know this is exactly what I did to you about being a doctor, but-,” Bellamy begs. Clarke shakes her head.

“And look, a doctor I became,” she says softly. Bellamy is crying now, and he sounds like he can’t catch his breath.

“I was wrong. Please. Don’t… can we just… can we go upstairs and talk about this?” he tries. “I love you so much. Please.” Clarke doesn’t know what to say, so she pulls her hands out of his, gets out of the car, and walks away.

 

She makes it about two blocks before he catches her, he’s been running, and he grabs her wrist and spins her into his chest. She sobs in earnest and half-heartedly tries to get free, but his arms are locked around her tightly. He presses his face into her hair and she can feel the wetness against her scalp.

“I’m not letting you go,” he whispers into her hair with a conviction that almost scares her. “I’m not. I won’t.”

“Bellamy, please,” Clarke tries, but she can’t form the words, any words at all, and goes back to crying into his chest and hating the fact that the scent of him is still comforting, even now.

“No. Don’t you get it? I’m not going to trade some hypothetical future for you. I have loved you for a third of my life, and I plan on loving you for the rest of it. So no, I’m not letting you go, Clarke. I don’t care. Kids, no kids, I don’t care. I love you and I’m not letting you go,” Bellamy tells her as he presses her more firmly into his chest, she’s still sobbing, but she knows that he’s won, that she’s not going anywhere.

“Okay,” she breathes out the word through her tears, and she’s not sure he’s heard her until he lets out a sob and readjusts his grip, an arm locked around her waist and a hand cradling her head.

“Thank god. Oh thank god. Clarke… just…,” he breathes the words out as his chest loses the tension and his shoulders curve around her. He can’t find the words to show his relief, but it’s enough and she nods, pressing her face further into his shoulder.

“I love you,” she whispers. “Let’s go home.” He nods and he presses her into his side as they walk back with wet, tear-stained faces and their arms tightly around each other, her nose pressing against his chest, and his nose pressing against her head.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispers into her hair as they reach the car.

“I won’t,” she whispers back. The words echo in her head again. She won’t. She promises.

\---

**Now**

When they get back to the apartment after the hairdresser, there are flowers waiting by the doorstep. They are almost identical to the flowers Bellamy sent after their second first date, and Clarke is smiling and blushing before she even picks them up. Octavia raises an eyebrow.

“Who are they from?” she asks.

“Your brother,” Clarke replies, before she checks the card. ‘ _See you at 1pm. Don’t be late._ ’ She smiles more broadly and smells the flowers, and she can name them now. Bouvardia, plumbago, sweet peas… she inhales them and they smell like spring. Octavia is watching her, smirking.

“He’s such a romantic,” Octavia rolls her eyes. Clarke laughs.

“It’s almost the same arrangement he sent after our first date. I told him he had to woo me. I didn’t think he actually would,” Clarke admits as they make it back into the apartment. Octavia is smiling widely.

“He’s such a dork. He really loves you, you know,” she says, watching as Clarke sits the flowers on the kitchen bench. Clarke smiles at her.

“I know. I really love him too,” she admits. Octavia makes a puking noise.

“That’s my brother you’re talking about,” she says, horrified and Clarke laughs.

“Some matron of honour, you are,” Clarke teases. Octavia screws up her face.

“Ew no. Commander of the Bridesmaids. I thought we agreed. Much better title,” Octavia corrects her, checking her phone. “Harper says she’s on her way up.” Clarke nods, still looking at the flowers.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear how smitten I am with your brother… but I am so glad I’m marrying him, O,” Clarke tells her, smiling. Octavia grins at her.

“I’m glad you’re marrying him too,” Octavia says. “Now come on, we need to keep moving or you’re never going to make it on time.”

“I seem to recall you were almost half an hour late,” Clarke offers.

“And I still say that was not my fault. The clock was broken,” Octavia says stubbornly. Clarke laughs at her.

“You are bizarrely calm given you’re getting married in two hours,” Octavia says after a moment. Clarke almost blushes with pleasure as she smiles.

“It’s just a day, Tav. An hour. But tomorrow is the rest of our lives,” she replies and Octavia shakes her head.

“You’re so weird, Clarke,” Octavia says, opening the door for Harper.

“Are we talking about how weird Clarke is? Because I have some stories,” Harper begins, and they’re laughing again.

“Come on, let’s get dressed. I don’t want to be late,” Clarke says and they roll their eyes at her, but they’re smiling.  But the anticipation has starting pooling in Clarke’s stomach, and while she knows he’ll be there, and he’s going to say yes, and so is she, there’s something about it that feels forced, and she can’t wait for it to be over. She also can’t wait for him to see her dress.  He loves her in sweatpants and cocktail dresses and jeans and short skirts, but she picked this dress for him, to be beautiful for him. And there is something about it, the anticipation that makes her shiver.

\---

**Then**

 

Bellamy has borrowed Miller’s pickup truck and driven them to the ocean. It took three hours to get there, and they’d left straight after dinner of pizza. Clarke’s been working twelve hour shifts lately (she’s lost track of how many days in a row), and she’s tired literally all the time, but she’s got tomorrow off and all she wants to do is sleep. Bellamy had been so eager for this drive, this stargazing, and she couldn’t refuse him, even though she’d rather just curl up on the couch. He promises her that it’s going to be worth it. So she sighs and tries to cover up the fact that she doesn’t want to be there. But it’s easier when they get to the beach, and Bellamy covers the bed of the truck with cushions and blankets and tucks her in next to him as they look out over the ocean and the stars, because suddenly she can’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be.

“Do you know what day it is?” Bellamy asks her quietly. Clarke shakes her head.

“Thursday?” she asks, and she knows it’s not the answer he’s looking for, but right now it’s the only one she has.

“It’s May seventh, Princess,” he offers, as if it’s clue that’s going to help her out. She looks at him, still confused. He sighs.

“It’s the anniversary of the day I first told you that I loved you,” he explains, like she should know this, like it’s knowledge she should have tucked away and treasured, like he so obviously has.

“The first first time, or the first time in a long time, or the second first time?” Clarke teases him, and he looks a little offended, but he smiles nonetheless.

“The first first time,” he replies, kissing her nose. She hums contentedly, remembering.

“I thought you’d take it back,” she says after a moment. He chuckles, and she feels the laughter in his chest.

“I thought you’d run away,” he counters. There is a moment of silence before Clarke pulls away slightly to look up at him.

“I really do love you, you know. Always have. Always will,” she tells him. And he smiles.

“I love you, too. And I always have, and I always will. Which is why I was wondering if you wanted to marry me,” Bellamy says, shifting away from her, making sure to look in her face. She smiles at him again, smiles like he’s being silly.

“You know that I do,” she replies, and kisses his nose. He shakes his head, takes her hand in one of his, and uses the other to produce a ring box.

“Clarke, I’m asking you, will you marry me?” he asks, and his voice sounds so serious, like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable blow, and she laughs, and claps her free hand over her mouth, staring at him for a moment. He opens the ring box and shows her a solitaire diamond on a twisted white gold band. She looks from the ring and back to him and to the ring and then back to him. He swallows nervously, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Kind of waiting for an answer here, Princess,” he says nervously and Clarke launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek over and over again.

“Yes,” she says over and over again. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” And he laughs into her hair and hold her close.

“I love you so much, Clarke,” he whispers into her hair.

Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever been happier.

\---

**Now**

 

They are standing in a room just off the foyer, waiting. Clarke can’t help but be frustrated that while she was five minutes early for her wedding, nobody else seems to have bothered to be on time. Octavia, unable to handle the stress, had ducked out and poked her head into the garden.

“He’s there. I mean, only about three quarters of the guests are, but he’s there,” Octavia says reassuringly, and Clarke laughs.

“Screw ‘em. Let’s get this show on the road,” Clarke announces. Harper laughs and Octavia looks unsure. Clarke shakes her head.

“You’re the bride,” Octavia says, but it’s clear that it’s not the decision she would have made as she ducks out again to tell the staff to get ready. Clarke takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through pursed lips. Harper grins at her.

“Still not nervous?” she teases. Clarke laughs.

“Maybe a little. I hate waiting,” Clarke says, but Harper shakes her head.

“You’ve been waiting for him for years. Another half hour probably wouldn’t have killed you,” she teases, and they laugh together for a moment. Clarke’s about to say something else when Octavia comes back in the room.

“Come on, they’re ready for you,” she says, and she takes Clarke’s arm as they head towards the beginning of the aisle.

 

Harper walks down first, and she leaves them with a smile before walking slowly down the aisle to the traditional march. Octavia squeezes her hand and kisses her cheek.

“I love you, and I’m so unbelievably happy right now,” she whispers. Clarke laughs.

“Love you too, Tav,” she whispers back as she heads down the aisle. And then Clarke is alone, hidden by the bushes and waiting for her cue. Abby had offered to walk her down the aisle, suggested several male friends of the family Clarke viewed as her surrogate family. But she’d refused. She was giving herself to Bellamy, no one else was doing it. And no one could replace her father. The tears caught in her throat and for the first time she really thought about how much he’d have wanted to be here, how much he would have loved this, loved Bellamy. How is arm would have felt locked in hers. She’s pretty sure she’s about to cry and ruin her makeup when Lincoln materialises next to her with a tissue. She looks at him gratefully.

“Bellamy thought you might need someone,” he says kindly, and offers his arm. Clarke lets out a sob as the tears threaten again, and links her arm in his. She nods and they head toward the aisle, a tissue clasped in one hand and her bouquet in another.

 

When Bellamy sees her, he grins broadly, and then covers his mouth with his hand, and she knows he’s crying too.  She laughs and cries, and she can tell he’s hating standing there, waiting. He wants to rush out to her, kiss her, and then walk with her, but he stays there, eyes locked her. Clarke can’t look away from him either, can’t see the smiling faces rows of chairs, and it doesn’t matter who’s there and who isn’t. When they reach the end of the aisle, Bellamy’s recovered enough to have his hands clasped in front of him again.

“You look beautiful,” he mouths the words at her, and she blushes as she tries to stop both smiling and crying. Lincoln lets her arm go and takes his place beside Bellamy, and Clarke finishes the last few steps on her own, standing opposite him. He takes her hands in his, even though they aren’t meant to, not yet, but she doesn’t care and it’s clear that he doesn’t either.

“I love you,” he whispers as the celebrant begins the welcome.

“I love you,” she whispers back.

\---

**Then**

 

Octavia is, as expected, utterly delighted when they tell her the news. They do it over the phone on loudspeaker during breakfast. She screams and jumps up and down and they can hear Lincoln rushing in asking her what’s wrong. Clarke and Bellamy laugh and end the call and forget about breakfast as they move backwards into the bedroom. They are not as surprised as they might be when there is a knock on their door four hours later, just in time for lunch, and they find a heavily pregnant Octavia, Lincoln, and Aurora on their doorstep. Clarke laughs and accepts their hugs while Lincoln and Bellamy shake hands and grin at each other like they’ve both won a prize. And maybe they have. Octavia launches herself at her brother, and he complains that she’s going to injure him now that she’s a whale and she laughs and swats at him and ignores his complaints as she bounces happily and chastises him for not telling her that he was about to propose. They buy sushi for lunch and walk to the park to eat it. Clarke watches as Bellamy and Lincoln chase after Aurora, laughing and blowing bubbles (her latest obsession). Something rests uneasily in her chest and for all that she is happy she thinks that she might cry. Octavia shoves her from her seat beside her on the picnic blanket.

“He’d rather have you, you know,” Octavia says, like she knows exactly what she’s thinking, and of course she does. Clarke nods.

“Don’t tell him, but I think I’d rather he have both,” Clarke replies, and Octavia grins, and rubs her stomach.

“We’re going to be sisters,” she says after a moment.

“We’ve always been sisters, Tav,” Clarke replies, and she lays back on the blanket and looks up at the clouds. It is a perfect afternoon, and Clarke, still being tired, almost begins to drift off when Octavia grips her hand tightly. Clarke’s eyes fly open and she turns to look at her friend. The blood has drained from her face.

“Something is wrong,” Octavia whispers.

 

Anya arrives that afternoon, and she’s so tiny that they keep her in an incubator in NICU, surrounded by bilights and wires. Octavia cries as Lincoln holds her up so that she can see into the room. She cries as he lowers her back into the wheelchair, and she cries as she is wheeled back to her room. Bellamy is holding Aurora on his hip, not letting her go since it all began, letting Lincoln be free to look after his wife. Clarke is holding Bellamy’s hand and she doesn’t think she’s stopped touching him for as long as he’d been holding Rory.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Aurora asks. Bellamy looks at Clarke desperately. She reads in his gaze a look he’s never given her before, ‘ _you’re a doctor, you should know’._ This time she does.

“Almost definitely, sweetheart,” Clarke says, and the relief on Bellamy’s face is contrasted with the serious nod that Aurora gives her.

“You should tell mummy,” Aurora says and Clarke smiles at her.

“I will, baby girl,” Clarke replies, and the Aurora tugs at Bellamy’s sleeve.

“Uncle Bell, I want my daddy now. Do you think he can give me a hug now?” she asks, and Bellamy smiles at her.

“Let’s ask him,” Bell says as they walk into the room. Octavia looks at her desperately.

“I feel like they’re speaking another language, Clarke. Is she going to be okay?” Octavia asks as Clarke sits beside her. Aurora has climbed onto Lincoln’s lap and he’s holding her like she’s going to disappear if he lets go. Bellamy runs his hands through his hair and looks lost.

“It’s looking good. They say the biggest risk is the first three days, but if she makes it through tonight, and it looks like she will, then she’s going to be fine,” Clarke says, and she’s glad her voice doesn’t shake and her hands stay still. Octavia looks at her with hope, and it’s the first time she’s seen a glimmer of her friend in hours.

 When she looks up, Bellamy is looking at her and she can’t read his expression, and it so rarely happens that it scares her. But she lets him take her hand and lead her out of the room. When the door closes behind them, he wraps her up in a hug.

“I forget sometimes that you’re a doctor,” he whispers. “But today I’m so glad you are.” Clarke buries her face in his chest.

“I’m so scared for them, Bell. It’s not a text book and that’s all I know,” Clarke whispers back. His arms tighten around her.

“Anya is going to have Octavia’s stubbornness and Lincoln’s strength,” he decides and Clarke lets out a nervous laugh.

“Not really how I saw today going. And you at the hospital on your day off,” Bellamy says sadly, leaning back to look at her. Clarke smiles at him.

“I’ve already told them I’m not coming back to work for a couple of days. Family is always more important,” she replies and he holds her again.

“I’m so glad I’m marrying you, Clarke Griffin,” he says and Clarke delights in the way her stomach flips. ‘ _Clarke Blake,’_ she tests it out, and then winces. She pulls back to look at him.

“I’m keeping my name,” she says and he laughs at her, loudly, and Lincoln sticks his head out to ask what is so funny.  When she tells him, they’re all laughing, Aurora too, even if she doesn’t quite know why.

\---

**Now**

 

Octavia and Lincoln are swaying together on the dance floor, Aurora is hugging Octavia’s leg and Anya is held in Lincoln’s arms. Bellamy and Clarke watch them from the bridal table, holding hands, and her head is resting against his shoulder. There had been no speeches, no awkward MC moments, just dinner and dancing while the band played. They hadn’t wanted a fuss.

“They look so happy,” Clarke says quietly. Bellamy strokes the back of her hand with his thumb.

“So are we,” he muttered back, pressing a kiss to her hair. She hummed.

“We are,” she agreed. His hand tightened on hers.

“Thank you. For Lincoln. You were…. You’re perfect,” Clarke whispers to him, and he pulls his hand free of her grasp to wrap it around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

“I love you. I know you wanted to do it alone, but…,” his voice trailed off. “I just want to take care of you.” Clarke smiled and shifted to look up at him.

“You did. You do. And now you have to. Forever. And I’ll take care of you too,” she says. He looks at her like he’s about to kiss, and possibly remove her dress and have his way with her. But he gives his head a small shake and smiles at her instead.

“Alright, Mrs Blake, let’s dance,” he says, and stands up, offering her his hand. She laughs and shakes her head, but takes his hand.

“Griffin-Blake,” she corrects. “We compromised.” He laughs as he leads her to the dance floor.

“Look, let me have it, just for one day. And maybe forever,” he says, teasing her. She shoots him a dirty look, and he laughs again. “Hey, you married me.” Clarke laughs, too.

“Yes, Mr Blake, I guess I did,” she says sweetly, and leans up to kisses him. “And I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

\---

**Later**

 

Clarke has been waiting for Bellamy to get home all day, and he should be here by now. She knows that his hours aren’t regular, and they never will be, and it’s never really bothered her until today. But then, a lot of things haven’t bothered her until recently. She feels vaguely sick and she knows she should probably eat something, but she can’t bring herself to, so she sits on the couch, legs and arms crossed, trying not to twitch.  She wonders if she should call him, or Octavia, or someone, anyone to say the words out loud or make him come home faster. But she won’t, because saying them makes them real, and he deserves to be the one she says them to.

She never worries about him, not really, not when he’s late, not after three years of cohabitation. She knows that Harper does: for every fifteen minutes Miller’s late she has a new scenario for his untimely death. Being the wife of a cop isn’t easy, and Clarke wonders if Harper is going to stick it out. She hopes she does, because Miller adores her and she deserves that happiness, and so does he. But tonight he is half an hour late and she feels sick. What if he’s been shot? What if he’s injured? What if he’s dying? And what if he’s lost track of time doing paperwork, she chastises herself. But she can’t help the rush of relief she feels when she hears his key in the lock fifteen minutes later.

He looks exhausted but he freezes when sees her, and the look on his face tells her that he knows something is wrong before she even opens her mouth. He drops his keys on the counter, and his jacket on a chair, and himself next to her on the couch. He unfolds her arms and holds her hands and looks into her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “What’s up?” She almost, almost laughs because how did she end up married to this ridiculous, perfect man?

“I have something to tell you,” she whispered. He took a deep breath.

“Well, I’m sufficiently scared. Are you dying?” Bellamy asks her. Clarke shakes her head.

“Is any family member dying?” he asks. She almost laughs and how he’s gone completely in the wrong direction.

“Are you... are you… leaving?” he manages, and Clarke does laugh. He doesn’t look completely relieved. She kisses his cheek.

“You’re ridiculous,” Clarke tells him softly.

“Are you going to put me out of my misery?” he asks, but there’s the hint of a smile on his face now.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers.  She watches the expressions dance over his face. He’s happy, she can tell he’s happy, but he’s trying to balance it with the last conversation they had about this where she almost left him.

“Are you… do you… are you…,” he stammers and Clarke takes pity on him.

“I’m sure. We’re keeping it. And I’m happy,” she says quietly, and he wraps his arms around her and pulls her onto his lap.

“Jesus Christ. You’re pregnant. We’re pregnant. You’re pregnant. We’re going to have a baby,” Bellamy’s muttering, and Clarke laughs and wonders why she was even nervous about telling him at all.

 

When Jacob August Blake is born, he is perfect. He has brown eyes, ten fingers and ten toes, and he is two days later than they were expecting. Clarke is exhausted after her fifteen hours of labour, but she’s ridiculously happy, and she can tell that Bellamy is too. He’s so in love with their son, he keeps whispering _‘hello Coby’_ to him and stroking his stomach.

“We made this,” Bellamy whispers. He looks up at her. “I didn’t think we’d have this. I can’t believe we’re this happy. Are you this happy?” Clarke smiles at him.

“Yeah, I am. I really, really am. Love you, Bell,” she replies.

“I love you too, Princess. Always.”

Clarke knows that life is real and wonderful and messy, but she wonders if this is what they mean when they say ‘happily ever after’.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr ](http://wordy-anansi.tumblr.com)
> 
> ALSO, if you feel so led, [please go here and vote for me in the Bellarke Fan Fiction Awards.](http://bellarkefanfictionawards.tumblr.com/general:bestmodern)


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